Birds of Paradise
by nightm0th
Summary: She's Gotham's most privileged socialite with her whole life laid out for her. But when the Joker comes into her life and changes it forever, he ignites a battle of good and evil inside her. With him on one side and the Batman on the other, will she cling to her goodness, or will she let the Joker's darkness consume her? Slight AU, but still sticking to TDK canon.
1. The Party

Hello, hello! This is my first fic ever. It'll loosely follow the plotlines of TDK, but it follows a story arc that isn't necessarily relevant to those plotlines. I love fics about the Joker because he's such a mysterious and captivating character. This Joker is obviously based off of Heath Ledger's portrayal. I wanted my OC to be an imperfect character with a good amount of darkness inside waiting to be unleashed, but with a moral code that prevents her from being actually evil- kind of like Catwoman in a way. This is because I can't imagine the Joker being with anyone who isn't his match, both in intelligence and darkness. It also is such a cliché to have a bad boy turned good by the right girl, so I wanted to do the opposite. Salomé, my OC, isn't anywhere near as depraved as the Joker is, but she has an animalistic, unfeeling streak that can result in her doing some horrible things. But she's torn between that darkness and her good side, and that's what this fic is really about. PS- her name is pronounced Sah-loh-meh. Not like salami, haha.

Please, read and review! I'm newbie on here so it would mean a lot to me. Enjoy :)

Warning: This fic contains explicit content including violence and sexual situations. If that offends you, get out while you can.

 _Disclaimer: I own nothing but my own OC's. Bruce Wayne/Batman and the Joker belong to DC Comics._

* * *

 **Chapter One**

Salomé Rowe sat at her desk with her head resting on her hands, her fingers pressed gently into her eyelids. She had closed her office door as a message that she needed a moment of privacy, a moment to herself to think. Sometimes she missed smoking for that precise reason- it gave her that little break in the day where she could go off on her own and be in her head for 5 minutes. 5 minutes of peace, that belonged to her and no one else. Now that she had quit, she had to take those precious moments of solitude wherever she could find them.

Her office phone rang. Moving her fingertips away from her eyelids and looking at the caller ID, Salomé saw that it was her assistant. She took a deep breath and tapped the speakerphone button with a manicured index finger.

"Yeah?"

"Salomé, sorry to disturb you when you have your door closed, but your mom wants to see you in her office."

"Okay, thanks, Claudia. Tell her I'll be there in just a sec," she said, before hanging up. She sighed before standing up and approaching the mirror on the left-hand wall of her office to check her appearance. She ruffled her golden-brown hair a little and debated whether to put her blazer on over the blush-colored satin bra top she had paired with slim-fitting, high-waisted navy pants and thin-strapped stiletto sandals, which was admittedly a risqué ensemble for a meeting with the boss, even if the boss _was_ her mother. But then again, this wasn't your typical office- it was the headquarters of the Jeanne Rowe fashion house, one of the hottest fashion labels in the world.

In the end she decided to drape the navy blazer over her shoulders. She grabbed her phone and a notepad, heading out the door and down the hall.

She knocked twice on the doorframe of her mother's rather vast office before entering.

"Shut the door," her mother said in her slight French accent, glancing up at her over the glasses perched on her nose. Jeanne Rowe was a small but imposing woman, with her perfectly quaffed head, immaculate outfits, and commanding attitude. She was gracious and chic and wily as hell- everything the head of a multi-million dollar fashion brand ought to be. She sat behind her large, mahogany desk in a long-sleeve black dress, with her dark bob tucked behind her ears and her Louboutin-clad feet just visible under the desk. Salomé did as she was told and sat in one of the chairs opposite her mother, who was tapping away at her keyboard. She crossed one leg over the other and stared out of the floor-to-ceiling window behind her mother, overlooking Gotham City as she waited for her mother to speak. She felt herself relax into the soft leather of the chair. She loved her mother's office, with its dimpled brown leather sofa, marble coffee table, and the beautiful Persian rugs laid across the hardwood floor.

Jeanne finally removed her glasses and looked at her.

"So, darling, I just wanted to make sure you haven't forgotten about Bruce Wayne's party this evening."

Salomé rolled her eyes. "No, mom, I haven't forgotten," she said, adding in a mumble, "no matter how much I'd like to."

Her mother looked at her pointedly. "Salomé, I will never understand your attitude towards these types of functions. They come with the territory of being part of the Gotham social scene and you'll have to learn to like them, or at least bear them gracefully, if you want to be successful when you take over this fashion house."

"Mom, I hate them. I hate having to make small talk with people I don't even care about, who definitely don't care about me either. I hate dealing with all the bitchy socialites who look down on me because I'm clearly not as good at schmoozing as they are. Everyone knows I don't fit in there, and that's another thing I hate. The way people look at me like I'm some kind of wild child just because I'm not talented at being fake and awful." She took a deep breath after her rant.

Her mother sighed and angled her head downward, peering at her. " _Trésor_ ," she began, using the French pet name only reserved for her daughter, "regardless of whether you're good at schmoozing or not, you _do_ fit in there. You were born into this world and raised with grace and manners, and I've seen you use them to great effect in the past. Now, stop whining. You should be _happy_ to be invited to a party hosted by Bruce Wayne. Any girl your age would kill for that invite. And he's single, you know. He's such a handsome young guy. He could be a good match for you." She grinned.

Salomé shuddered in disgust. "Mom. Stop. He's vile. I don't care if he's the richest, most handsome guy on the planet. He is literally the embodiment of everything I hate about our class, and actually, humanity in general. He's a self-absorbed airhead who doesn't care about anything real. I'll go to his dumb party to make you happy and because I know it's expected of me. And I'll be gracious for those same reasons. But do not push me towards Bruce Wayne, mother. It's not gonna happen."

Jeanne stared at her daughter with an exasperated sigh before changing the subject. "Have you picked out what you're going to wear?"

"No. Doing that would've been solid confirmation that I'm actually going."

"I thought as much, so I took the liberty of asking that assistant of yours to pick out some suitable options for you." She hit the speakerphone button on her office phone and tapped in Claudia's extension.

"Yes, Mrs. Rowe?"

"Darling, would you be so kind as to bring those dress options for Salomé into my office? Thanks." She hung up without waiting for a reply.

Not a moment later, Claudia bustled into the office with several garment bags from various designers and shopping bags with matching accessories. She removed the dresses from their garment bags and hung them on the brass clothing rack against the wall of the office, usually used for Jeanne's own designs. Claudia laid the corresponding accessories out on the coffee table before taking her leave.

Salome's eyes moved over the clothing rack, landing on a red ensemble with striking matching accessories.

"I'll wear the Dolce & Gabbana. If I'm going to be forced to spend a whole evening with people who make me feel like shit, I might as well make sure I'm the best-dressed person there."

* * *

Salomé stepped out onto the sidewalk behind her parents and adjusted the black faux-fur jacket she had donned over her dress. She had ridden with them in their limousine at her mother's insistence, which she assumed was to prevent her from being able to leave before her parents did. Little did they know that she had secretly asked her own driver, Edwin, to come and wait outside an hour after they arrived in case she needed a quick escape. She was paying him time-and-a-half for that, of course.

She wore a beautiful red Dolce & Gabbana mini dress with a round neck, three-quarter sleeves, and a fit-and-flare shape. It had red lace panels on the sleeves and from the bodice to the skirt. With it she wore the matching long gold necklace with a large cross pendant on it, large gold cross earrings that reached all the way to her shoulders, and a beautiful jewel-embellished gold crown over her golden-brown locks, which were swept back into an easy, romantic-looking low bun.

The ensemble was part of Dolce & Gabbana's new byzantine-inspired collection, which was reminiscent of the costumes that cardinals and popes wore at that time and drew from byzantine Catholic iconography. Collections like this one were what really reminded Salomé of what she loved about fashion- true, artistic fashion design that drew from history in a meaningful way to create something stunning without trying too hard. She had done her makeup simply- just dark red lipstick, a little blush, and some magical lengthening mascara to accentuate her long lashes and bring out her brown eyes. She took a deep breath as they rode the elevator all the way up to Bruce Wayne's penthouse. She caught her father's eye in the reflective surface of the elevator doors. He smiled encouragingly.

"Don't take it too seriously, kiddo," he chuckled. "It's only a party, after all." Salomé knew her father didn't like these functions any more than she did, but he was better at taking it in stride than she was. Charles Rowe was one of the most well known judges in Gotham, and not just for his reputation of putting Gotham's criminals behind bars. It wasn't very common for a judge to marry a high-profile fashion executive. It was one of the things that gave their family a little edge, and one of the things that made some consider Charles and Jeanne Rowe to be Gotham's "power couple".

Salomé gave her reflection in the elevator doors one last encouraging look before they opened to Bruce Wayne's typically sleek single-man's bachelor pad, a open-plan space with modern furniture and floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city. They handed their coats to the doorman in the foyer and her parents walked on arm-in-arm into the wide-open space where the guests were mingling. Salomé hung back for a moment, putting her gracious-socialite mask on, before stepping into the room with her head held high.

She noticed many eyes turning towards her as she moved through the room, smiling and greeting people as they recognized her. She grabbed a glass of champagne off of a passing tray as she glanced around, looking for her parents. She locked gazes with two familiar pairs of eyes, and audibly sighed with relief as she bounded across the room towards her two best friends, her black almond-toed stiletto pumps clicking against the marble floor.

"You didn't tell us you were coming to this," Martha half-squealed as she gave Salomé a hug. "You look so bangin' in that dress, by the way. And that _crown_!" She touched the golden crown reverently.

"Thanks, babygirl. I was trying to get out of coming, to be honest," Salomé said, smiling sheepishly as she hugged Chloe. "I'm so fucking happy to see you guys, you have no idea. I thought I was going to be thrown to the wolves all alone tonight."

"Did your mom force you to come?" Chloe asked, her big hazel eyes twinkling with amusement.

"Ugh, yeah. She's trying to hook me up with Bruce Wayne." Salomé made a mock gagging gesture.

"What's wrong with that? He's super hot, and he's, like, the most eligible bachelor in Gotham," Martha said.

Salomé took a big gulp of champagne and made a grossed-out face. "I don't know, he's just such an asshole. He's arguably the most powerful man in this city and what does he do with it? He just flaunts his wealth and fucks girls, and then does a well-placed charity fundraiser here and there to make it all look copacetic." She shook her head. "I mean, I'm not acting like I'm Mother Theresa over here, but at least I _care_. At least money isn't the most important thing in my whole life and I support the causes I'm really passionate about."

"Yeah, I guess you have a point. He's a little too extra for you. But I'd still hit that," Martha said, laughing.

"That's because you have no moral compass," Chloe said, sipping her Manhattan and rolling her eyes. Martha gave her the finger. Salomé flagged down a waiter and swapped out her empty champagne coupe for a full one, tossing back half of it in two long sips. She swiped the side of her mouth with a glossy burgundy fingernail without messing up her lipstick. She figured if she was being forced to endure this party, she might as well do it tipsy.

She was on her third glass of champagne when her mother appeared at her elbow. "Darling, can I borrow you a moment? Hi, girls." Chloe and Martha smiled and waved.

"Sure, mom," Salomé said, taking another big sip of champagne. She rolled her eyes behind her mother's back and waved to her friends. "Be right back."

Her mother began to lead her by the hand across the room. Salomé noticed that they were headed for the back of a familiar-looking tall, glossy dark head of hair that was talking to her father. As soon as she realized her mother was dragging her to talk to Bruce Wayne, she downed the remaining champagne in her glass and stopped to get a new one. Jeanne glared disapprovingly but kept walking.

"Bruce, you remember my daughter, Salomé," her mother said, gesturing for Salomé to step forward. Salomé forced a smile that she was sure didn't come across as completely genuine.

"How could I forget?" Bruce said smoothly. He held out his hand, and she reluctantly reached toward it. He grabbed her fingertips swiftly and leaned down to place a kiss on the back of her hand. She fought the urge to roll her eyes, because she knew this was just the kind of thing that would make her parents think he was _such_ a _gentleman_!

"Bruce," she acknowledged, bowing her head slightly.

"You look absolutely stunning tonight, Salomé," Bruce said, "the boldest looking woman here, as usual." Salomé smiled tightly at the thinly veiled dig at her inability to fully fit in.

"Well, it's easy when I have such a great fashion team at my disposal," she said graciously, gesturing toward her mother, who smiled.

"Oh, Charles, there's the prima ballerina of the Russian ballet," Jeanne said. "Let's go say hello." Salomé couldn't help but shoot daggers at her mother's back for that less than slick exit from the conversation. She finished her fourth glass of champagne and flagged down a waiter for another. She noticed that she was feeling more drunk than tipsy at this point.

"So, how are things at the big fashion house? Busy, I'm guessing, with all the fashion weeks coming up? Looking forward to seeing you there, by the way. I've got reserved seats at all the shows," he said, smirking.

"Actually, I won't be going. That's more my mom's thing. I have important work to do here, and I honestly don't like all of the _arrogance_ floating around at those shows," she said breezily. With all the champagne in her system, she was running out of nice and having trouble keeping her façade up. She glanced around for her parents, clinging to the shred of hope that they would come back and save her from this conversation.

"Right, I forgot that you're not as much of a social butterfly as your mother is. I hope she isn't planning on seeing the Russian ballet perform, by the way," he added, nodding his head towards her parents, who were in animated conversation with the prima ballerina. "I'm thinking of taking my boat to some remote little place and absconding with the whole company."

Salomé scoffed. "Of course you are." Another large gulp of champagne.

"What, are you not a fan of vacations, either?"

"No, actually," Salomé said, in a sickly sweet tone, "I'm just not a fan of _you_." She flashed him a shamelessly fake smile and walked off in the opposite direction, slamming her champagne glass down on a passing tray as she went. She was shocked at herself. She normally was able to keep it together at these types of parties and was not one to instigate a confrontation, but the champagne had really loosened her tongue and Bruce Wayne had pissed her off like only he could. She couldn't stand his smug attitude. She stormed into the foyer, got her coat and clutch from the doorman and then quickly slipped into the elevator before anyone could notice she'd gone. She walked briskly out on to the sidewalk, scanning the many waiting towncars and limos for her own, but they all looked the same. She pulled out her phone and called Edwin.

"Yes?" he answered on the first ring.

"Can you stick your hand out of the window and wave it around? I can't tell which car is ours," she said. A second went by before she saw a black-suited arm with a gloved hand reach up out of a driver's side window and wave. "Thanks," she said before hanging up and heading to the car. She opened the door and slid into the back seat. "Let's get out of here before my parents come after me, Edwin." He chuckled and put the car in drive.

She leaned her head back against the headrest and closed her eyes as they drove toward the other side of the Diamond District in the Friday night traffic. Only about 5 peaceful moments went by before Edwin's phone began to ring. He glanced at the caller ID and sighed before sliding his finger across the touchscreen and answering on speakerphone.

"Yes, ma'am?"

"Edwin, I know you have my daughter in your car. Please turn around this instant and bring her back." Jeanne's angry voice sliced through the car, her French accent more pronounced than usual. Edwin looked at her in the rearview mirror.

"Ma'am, we've already made it quite far, and-"

"Edwin, if you do not turn around and bring my daughter back, I will give her enough of a pay cut that she won't be able to afford a driver anymore." Her voice was steely. Edwin glanced back at Salomé apologetically. She felt anger rise wildly inside her. She wasn't going back to that party. There was no way in hell.

"Yes, Mrs. Rowe. I'll turn around."

"Good." The call ended. Salomé acted. While they were stuck in trafficky area, she opened her door and jumped out, running into a side street. Edwin yelled after her, jumping out of the car himself to chase her. He was clearly fearing for his job, but Salomé would make sure he didn't get fired. She ran and ran, turning corner after corner until she was sure Edwin wasn't behind her anymore, but she kept running. It was exhilarating and the champagne was making her forget about her 5-inch heels and the fact that she was running into a sketchy neighborhood dressed in about $20,000 worth of clothing and jewels. She paused as she passed by a lone man walking and smoking a cigarette, who was openly staring at her with shock on his face.

"Hey, can I bum one of those?" she asked breathlessly. He stared at her for a second, but pulled the pack out of his pocket and gave her one. She clamped it between her teeth. "Got a light?" she asked. He wordlessly produced a lighter and lit the end of the cigarette for her. "Thanks," she said, flashing him a wide grin. She jogged off and ducked into the entrance of a nearby alleyway, leaning back against the wall and chuckling breathlessly. She took a deep drag of her cigarette and let her head fall back against the brick. Some of her hair had come out of her bun in her chase, and was hanging around her face. She grinned as she exhaled the smoke and took a deep breath, looking up at the smoggy night sky. She had actually escaped. She took a few moments to savor her victory and finish her cigarette. Then she would find a cab home. She wasn't aware of the two dark eyes watching her from the shadows.

* * *

So there you have it, Chapter 1. I hope you liked it! In the next chapter we meet the Joker. Bye for now :)


	2. Little Bird

I figured I should get some more chapters up on here to get this story going, so here's Chapter 2. I'm also going to post chapter 3.

Warning for this chapter: It has explicit scenes of assault. Sorry to those who are triggered by this, but it really is necessary for the plot and the character development of my OC. Wouldn't have done it otherwise.

Anyway, enjoy and review!

 _Disclaimer: I own nothing but my OCs. The Joker and Bruce Wayne/The Batman are property of DC Comics._

* * *

 **Chapter 2**

He stood in a dark corner of the alleyway by a dumpster, checking his watch. He knew no one could see him in the shadows wearing his dark purple suit. He expected them to turn up any second to pick him up, so he stayed still and waited, fingering the pearl handle of one of the knives inside his jacket.

He heard the rapid clicking of heels on the sidewalk. A second later, a young woman ducked into the alleyway from where she had been jogging. She didn't look afraid or panicked. She leaned back against the brick wall, a cigarette between her fingers. Having nothing better to do while he waited, he appraised her silently.

She had olive skin and warm brown hair that seemed to have hints of gold in it. It was swept back away from her heart-shaped face, but a few strands fell in loose waves around her cheeks. Her eyes were large and dark, framed by thick, strikingly long lashes and arched eyebrows of matching darkness. She had a straight, balanced nose and high cheekbones, which led his eyes down to her mouth, whose upper lip had a slight cupid's bow and lower lip was round and a bit plump. She had dark red lipstick on.

She was leaning with her back flat against the wall and her slender, bare legs out in front of her at an angle, forming a triangle with the wall and the ground. She was wearing black high heels and a striking, short red dress under an unbuttoned cropped fur jacket. He could see the glint of a long gold necklace peeking out from under the jacket. On her ears were enormous golden cross earrings, the ends of which grazed her shoulders, and on her head was a matching golden crown. She clearly was coming from some sort of event.

 _Like a bird of paradise in a swamp,_ he thought amusedly. _A_ little _bird,_ he added, noting that without her heels she would be only a little over five feet tall.

He cocked an eyebrow as the little bird leaned her head back against the grimy brick wall and grinned, exposing a long, slim column of neck. He smirked as he thought about how easy it would be for him to snap that neck. He could probably do it with one hand. She exhaled the smoke of her cigarette and released a breathy chuckle. Her teeth were straight and shockingly white against the darkness of her lipstick. He watched in entertainment as she breathed deeply and looked upwards, finishing her cigarette. Then she pushed herself off the wall and slipped out of the alleyway, walking in the direction she'd come from.

A moment later, a black Escalade slid into the alley. The driver's window rolled down to reveal a clown-masked face. "Boss," the face said.

The Joker jumped into the back seat and shut the door.

* * *

Salomé sat on the white leather couch in her office with her legs curled underneath her and her drawing tablet on her lap. She was working on some fashion sketches for the next fall/winter collection. It had been weeks since that night at the party, and it had taken a while to get her mother back on speaking terms with her. She had practically forced Salomé to write Bruce Wayne an apology letter, which she had done, though she was sure he would be able to tell how insincere it was.

She didn't regret what she'd done. It had given her a feeling of power, pride, and control that she seldom ever felt. She was incredibly privileged, true, but she felt as though she moved through her life being torn in all different directions by everyone around her. The pressure she felt to make everyone happy at the risk of her own happiness was a debilitating force in her life. It was her biggest flaw: she hated confrontation and loved pleasing others, being generous, and being praised. The combination of those things made it so that she felt she could never say no to anyone.

She knew she was intelligent. She knew she had a dream job at the age of 23 and that she'd been blessed with beauty and resources and that there was no reason for her to feel beneath anyone or sorry for herself, but she couldn't shake this feeling she constantly had that she was behind, that she was average and that others looked down on her. The night of Bruce's party, though, she'd felt so high up it was like she was flying. It was like smoldering embers of fire had been lying dormant deep inside, and she had finally let them roar free to lick up her throat and out of her mouth.

She wanted the feeling to last, but by the time she woke up the next morning she was back to her overly empathetic, people-pleasing self, the fire having been forced back down to where it came from. She had always known she had that fiery person inside her. It was where her personality was split down the middle: the generous, passionately empathetic advocate on one side, and the short-tempered, impulsive and callous dragon-like creature on the other. She pushed down her dark side because she was afraid of what she would become and who she would lose if she let it out, but she had to admit- from what she had felt the night of the party, she had _liked_ who she was when she let it out.

She put her stylus down in its little holder and set aside her tablet, stretching deeply. She heard some commotion outside her office door and poked her head out.

"What's going on?" she asked Claudia, who was scurrying towards the crowd forming around the TV in the lounge area.

"The Joker is on TV threatening some Batman impersonator's life," she said over her shoulder. Salomé pulled on her Superga sneakers and headed towards the crowd just in time to see the Joker's grotesquely painted face on the large screen.

"I'm a man of my word," he growled out breathlessly. He laughed maniacally, the poor impersonator's screams echoing in the background. Her colleagues were abuzz, many of them holding their hands over their mouths in horrified shock. Salomé felt strange. The situation was so horrifying… _he_ was so horrifying. She felt disgusted and her heart ached for the poor man who was no doubt losing his life as they spoke. But she also felt something else. She felt… stirred. Restless. She wanted to act out and be irresponsible. She walked stiffly back to her office and closed the door, leaning against it for a second to collect herself. Then she picked up her phone and sent a group text to Martha and Chloe.

Salomé Rowe: the world is so depressing right now. can we go out tonight and do something fun?

Chloe Horowitz: like what

Salomé Rowe: idk, clubbing or something? I wanna get drunk and be dumb.

Martha Fortune: are you okay? like are you having a nervous breakdown?

Martha Fortune: you hate clubbing.

Salomé Rowe: I know. i just feel like it for some reason, I don't even know.

Chloe Horowitz: well I'm down. we could go to that new club downtown that's like One Oak for the east coast

Martha Fortune: aka the cover is $100 and they let you smoke inside bc you're probably a celebrity?

Chloe Horowitz: yup.

Chloe Horowitz: except no $100 cover for us because we'll be with Salome… hehe

Salomé Rowe: not gonna lie, smoking inside sounds pretty dope right about now

Salomé Rowe: I'll text you guys after work tho, gotta get back to it

Salomé Rowe: I'll ask Claudia to put us on the guestlist for tonight

Martha Fortune: kk

Chloe Horowitz: biiiyeeeee

She tossed her phone back into her bag and sat back on the sofa to finish her sketches. She thought about the man the Joker had just killed, and felt a twist of grief in her stomach. It just made her want to drink even more. She didn't know what was going to happen tonight, but she felt excitement bubbling inside her. It was an unfamiliar feeling when it came to socializing.

* * *

Salomé walked confidently past the long line of partiers waiting to get into Le Disco, holding the hands of Chloe and Martha on either side of her. She felt the eyes of everyone on them and tried to push aside how uncomfortable it made her feel. After all, they _did_ look amazing. Martha was wearing high-waisted skintight leather pants and a black satin bra top, which made her blonde hair pop and created a total femme fatale look.

Chloe was wearing a strapless burgundy suede micro-mini dress that was super tight on top and then flared out a little at her hips. She had on matching strappy heeled sandals and had swept her dark hair up into a messy but chic bun on top of her head.

Salomé had her hair down in loose waves and wore a white satin slip dress that came down just past her fingertips. It had a plunging v-neck and hung loose off her slim body, revealing her black lace bra. She wore fitted black leather high-heeled boots that ended just a couple inches below the hem of her dress on her upper thigh.

"Salomé Rowe," she said to the bouncer, then added, "plus two." The bouncer nodded and stepped aside, allowing them to pass. They dropped their coats off at the coat-check and stepped into the thick crowd. They made their way to the bar and ordered tequila shots.

"To not caring," Salomé toasted, raising her shot to her friends before licking the salt off her hand, tossing it back, and then sucking on the lime. "Another round," she told the bartender. They took two more before deciding to pace their drinking. Salomé was quite tipsy at that point. She sat sideways on her stool, facing her two friends. She lit a cigarette, and as expected, no one batted an eye.

"Salomé, that guy is totally checking you out," Chloe said.

"No, he isn't," Salomé said reflexively, without turning around.

"No, seriously, _look_ ," Martha said. "He's practically undressing you with his eyes."

She slowly looked over her shoulder and sure enough, a tall, good-looking guy with dark blonde hair was leaning against the bar, smirking at her. She offered him a slow grin before turning back to her friends.

"Let's go dance, shall we?" she said, tossing back her fifth shot (no salt, no lime this time) and sliding off her bar stool, pulling the chain strap of her purse over her head so it was sitting cross-body. She grabbed her friends' hands and pulled them to the dance floor. She closed her eyes and let her body move, finally at the point of drunkenness where the fire-breathing dragon inside her was lifting its head hopefully. It was ready to come out and play.

She was throwing her hands in the air, gyrating her hips, moving her feet. And then she felt a strong pair of hands sliding over her hipbones and a warm chest behind her back. Without her heeled boots, she would've come up chest-level with him, but as it was, her head was resting comfortably on his shoulder. She looked up into the face of the blonde-haired guy and smiled.

"Can I buy you a drink?" he yelled into her ear over the music.

"I don't know, can you?" she yelled back. He smirked and wrapped his fingers around her wrist, leading the way to the bar. She waggled her eyebrows at Chloe and Martha as she walked away.

"What are you drinking?" blonde guy asked.

"Tequila shots."

"You heard her, Chris," he said to the bartender and winked. "Make it extra special."

Chris the bartender set one shot in front of her and the other in front of blonde guy. "How do you know his name?" Salomé asked.

"I'm the manager and promoter for this club, so I know everyone here," he said. "Bottoms up." They knocked back the shots. "So, what's your name?"

"Bridgitte." She said the name without thinking and giggled internally. She was feeling very drunk now. She didn't ask him for his name. She didn't care what his name was.

"What do you do, Bridgitte?"

"I'm a graphic designer," she lied again. She wanted him to think she was normal, just another girl at the bar with her friends and not anyone worth whispering about.

"Really? What firm do you work for? I know a lot of graphic designers from when we were designing the logo for this club," he said.

"Oh, I really just do freelance," she said. She was beginning to feel dizzy and hot. A queasy feeling grew in her stomach and she swayed a little on her chair.

"Hey, you alright?" he asked, putting a hand on her shoulder.

"Yeah, I… I think I just need to get some air," she said, sliding gracelessly off the stool.

"Here, let me help you," he said, wrapping an arm around her waist to steady her. The hem of her dress slid up with the pressure his hand was putting against her side, revealing her upper thigh.

"Thanks," she slurred gratefully. They made their way towards the back door and blonde guy pushed it open, guiding her through. It was freezing outside and she was only wearing her skimpy satin spaghetti strap dress, but she didn't feel the cold. In fact, she felt a thin sheen of sweat beginning to form on her skin.

The back of the club opened up to a small complex of alleys, the biggest of which was the one they were standing in just outside the club's door. There was a large crowd of smokers congregated, and the cloud of smoke they were generating was making Salomé want to gag. "Need to get away from this smoke," she choked out, placing the back of her hand over her nose. Blonde guy nodded, guiding her through and then away from the crowd. The dizziness was almost unbearable now, and her eyelids were starting to droop as she stumbled along, leaning heavily into him for balance.

She was dimly aware of cold brick on her bare back and a hand tangling itself in her hair. Something soft fluttered against her neck and there was a warm wall against the front of her body. She felt the wall disappear and lifted her lids enough to see blonde guy's body crouched down in front of her, his hands sliding up her boot-covered legs and fingers hooking into her underwear.

Then the wall of his body was back against her. She lifted her hands to his shoulders weakly, half hanging on to him for fear of her legs giving out and half trying to push him away. She felt her body shift and a dull pain on the back of her head as it smacked into the brick wall behind her. Her voice sounded far, far away as she protested, said no, told him to stop. Then she felt a sharp stab of pain deep in her body, and something horrible was filling her, and a hot wave of panic rose up in her chest before everything went black.

* * *

So there you have it, babes, Chapter 2. I'm sorry about the end, there. Soon you'll see why it was necessary. More Joker to come in Chapter 3, which I'm gonna post now.

xo, nightmoth


	3. Le Disco

There's gonna be some more assault at the beginning of this chapter, but it's necessary. This and Chapter 2 were pretty hard to write for that reason. I can't stress enough, though, that it's essential to the plot.

Anyway, here's Chapter 3. Enjoy :) And review? Fav? Follow? Something? Pretty please? Haha. In all seriousness, it'll help me narrow down on the way things are going to unfold if I know what you're thinking so far.

 _Disclaimer: I own nothing but my OCs. The Joker and Bruce Wayne/The Batman belong to DC Comics._

* * *

 **Chapter 3**

He was ambling through the maze of alleys with his hands in his pockets, grinning as he thought back over the day's work with that _wonderful_ little Batman impersonator. After that, he knew they'd be looking for him. He would need to be picked up by his lackeys in the place where he was most unlikely to be, and he couldn't think of anyplace less likely for him to be than in the middle of the Diamond District near a ritzy nightclub. So that's where he told his lackeys to pick him up at two A.M. sharp. He checked his watch. One-forty.

He continued walking in the shadows at a relaxed pace. He could hear the buzzing of the dumb party crowd and the thumping of the horrible club music. And then, as he continued, he heard something else.

Moaning. Soft moaning.

He rounded a shadowy corner and came upon a couple against the opposite wall, fucking.

 _Drunk, sloppy sex in an alleyway,_ he thought. _These Diamond District people sure know how to class it up._ He nearly giggled at the sight.

The man with dark blonde hair had his face in the girl's neck, his head shielding her face from view. He was pinning her against the wall, thrusting into her, her legs draped loosely over the backs of his knees and her arms slung onto his shoulders. Her underwear and purse lay discarded on the ground next to the guy's feet.

He stayed in the shadows a moment longer, watching amusedly, until the guy lifted his head to move to the other side of the girl's throat, revealing a vaguely familiar column of neck.

Then he yanked her head further to the side by her hair to suck on her neck, and the Joker saw her face.

It was the bird of paradise from that night in the alley.

Only she wasn't grinning this time. In fact, he noted calmly, she wasn't moving at all. Her head lolled to the side and her eyes were closed. One arm slipped off the blonde guy's shoulder and dropped limply to her side. What he had originally thought were moans of passion were actually her murmured protests and whimpers of pain before she had apparently passed out, so soft that they were unintelligible.

The Joker's eyes darkened. He _hated_ rapists.

He stepped out of the shadows.

"Ya know, _maybe_ next time you should pick someone actually in your _league,_ that way you don't have to resort to _rape_ in order to get your dick we _t_ ," he drawled, accentuating the "t" as he grabbed the back of the rapist's collar and yanked him back from the little bird.

She slid down the wall and fell in a heap at the bottom, her eyes never opening. The Joker spun the rapist around and shoved him into the wall, slipping a small knife out of the inside of his jacket and pressing it into his neck. He laughed gleefully at the guy's sputtering terror. His eyes were so wide with fear, they looked like they were going to pop out of his head. The Joker was one second away from slitting the rapist's throat, but then he recognized an opportunity.

An opportunity to create a little of what he loved most: chaos.

He pressed the knife a bit harder into the rapist's throat, drawing a little blood to distract him as he slipped his hand into the rapist's pocket to grab his wallet. Then he lowered the knife, grinned cruelly, and said, "I would _run_ now if I were you, little rapist. Run, run, run, run, run!" He said the last part in a sing-song voice.

The rapist stumbled and fell in his haste to sprint out of the alley. The Joker turned to the little bird.

She lay half on her side, with her shoulders and head facing upwards. Her white dress was dirty and ripped, and had fallen up to reveal one hip. Her neck was covered in bite marks. There was a bloody spot on the wall from where the rapist had smacked her head there.

The Joker squatted down in front of her, wrapping his gloved hand roughly around her arm and yanking her upright so she was leaning against the wall. The movement caused her hair, which he noticed was wavy and came down a few inches past her collarbone, to fall over her face. He callously brushed it away before reaching over for her purse, pulling her phone out and dialing 911.

"911, what's your emergency?"

"Yes, hello, I need an ambulance for a passed out broad behind-" he checked the typing on her wristband and rolled his eyes in disdain, "Le Disco. And you might wanna hurry it up, because I'm _pret_ ty sure she's been assaulted." He hung up the phone and put it back in her purse, pausing when he heard her feeble voice.

"Joker...?"

It was almost a whisper. He looked over at her. Her eyes were slightly open, and he was surprised to see recognition there, but no fear. He guessed she was just too far gone.

"Go to sleep, little bird," he drawled. He glanced at her purse as her eyes closed again, before opening the rapist's wallet.

* * *

The first thing she felt was hope. Hope that this had all been some weird alcohol-induced dream, and that when she opened her eyes she would be safe in her own bed. She was pretty sure it _had_ been a dream. She had seen the hazy black, white and red face of the Joker, so it had to be, right?

Then she felt the pain. Pain on her head, on her neck, down her back, and worst of all, in between her legs. She opened her eyes to the stark white of the hospital ceiling, and that's when she knew it wasn't a dream. She furrowed her brow in confusion. How had she gotten here? Why was she seeing the Joker? She must've dreamt that part for sure. She felt nauseous. She raised a hand to her head to rub her eyes. The movement startled her mother, who had been resting her face in her hands at the edge of the mattress.

"Salomé? Salomé! Thank God, thank God…" Her mother began to sob, clutching her hand. "Charles! Charles, get the nurse," she yelled. Her father burst out of the adjoining restroom and rushed out the door, yelling for a nurse. He returned a moment later with a nurse in tow and clasped her other hand, his face etched with worried lines. The nurse felt her forehead.

"Miss Rowe? How are you feeling?"

"Like shit, honestly," she rasped. Her voice felt broken.

"My darling, do you remember what happened?" her mother asked.

"Umm, not really… I remember meeting a guy, and having a drink, and then I wasn't feeling good… he helped me outside to get some air and that's the last thing I remember." She left out the part about the Joker, since she wasn't really sure it actually happened. She felt oddly detached from the situation, like her feelings had gone numb.

"Well, dispatch received a call from a man asking for an ambulance for you," the nurse said. "Do you know who that might be?"

Salomé furrowed her brow. "No," she said. "I really can't remember. But my body hurts so much."

"Well, the man who called it in said that he believed you had been assaulted. In light of that, we strongly suggest that you do a rape kit," the nurse said, "if only to confirm that that's what happened. But the decision is ultimately yours."

Salomé nodded weakly. She just wanted to go home and shower and be alone, without all these eyes on her. "Can we do it now, so I can go home, please?"

* * *

Salomé leaned her head on the palm of her hand as her parents checked her out of the hospital. She carried a clear plastic bag with her tattered dress, her bra, and her purse in it in one hand. They had kept her underwear for the rape kit. In her other hand were her boots.

Her parents finally approached her, and she stood up from the chair she had been occupying by the front desk. Her dad took the bag and her boots from her, then ushered her out of the hospital and toward his waiting driver. They sat in her parents' town car in silence as they drove through the Diamond District towards her apartment.

" _Trésor,_ are you sure you don't want to come home with us? You shouldn't be alone at a time like this," her mother said worriedly when they pulled up in front of her building. Jeanne's hair was messy and she had no makeup on. Salomé couldn't remember the last time she had seen her so un-put together.

"Yeah, mom, I'm sure," she said tiredly. "Thanks, but I just want to be in my own bed. I'll call you in a bit, okay?" She hugged her, and then her father, who had been shockingly quiet through the whole ordeal. He hugged her fiercely, though.

"You don't even want us to come up with you?" her mother asked, her voice trembling and eyes beginning to fill with tears.

She shook her head. "No, I think I just need to be alone so I can start to process all of this." She squeezed her mother's hand.

"Love you, kid," her father said gruffly.

"Love you too, dad," she mumbled as she got out of the car, the pain between her legs making her wince. The doorman gave her an odd look as he held the door open for her. She figured it was because she usually looked much chicer than she did right now, in the grey sweatpants and sweatshirt that her parents had brought to the hospital for her.

She stepped into the elevator and leaned back against the wall, shutting her eyes as it carried her to the penthouse. Stepping out, she fished her purse out of the plastic bag before throwing the plastic and her boots onto a chair in the foyer. She tossed her purse onto her bed on her way to her en-suite bathroom. She craved a scalding hot shower more than she had ever craved anything in her life.

She stepped onto the cold marble floor and shut the door behind her, crossing the room to lean into the glass shower stall and flick on the water. She stripped off her clothing on autopilot, pulling the elastic out of her hair and walking over to the sink to put it down. She gasped at what she saw in the mirror.

She had reddish-purple bruises and bite marks all over her neck and chest. She also had bruises on her thighs. One of her hips was scraped, as was her elbow and shoulder on the same side.

She backed towards the shower stall until she was under the burning hot stream of water and shut the glass door, taking deep and unsteady breaths. She sat down on the marble bench inside the stall, closing her eyes, and had a flash of memory. The faceless blonde guy kneeling in front of her, his hands sliding up her thighs to her underwear. The cold roughness of the brick against her back. The smack of her head against the wall. And the jolt of pain that had sent her into a spiral of fear just before she slipped away.

And then that face…. That red, white, and black face….

A strangled cry released itself from her throat and then she was sobbing desperately, banging her fists against the marble of the bench on either side of her legs and clawing her fingers into her hair. She remained in the shower a long time, slowly washing all the painful parts of her body once she had calmed down enough. A fresh wave of hysteria hit her when she washed between her legs and bloody red water ran down the drain.

Eventually she ran out of tears and energy, and the water had turned cold. She shut it off and wrapped herself in a robe, twisting her wet hair up into a towel. She opened the cabinet behind the bathroom mirror and tipped two Ativan into her hand from the yellow prescription bottle. She dry-swallowed them one after the other and then finished drying herself off.

She pulled an oversized t-shirt on over her head and crawled into bed. She felt too tender between her legs for underwear. She dragged her purse towards her and removed her phone. She had 25 texts from Martha and Chloe, initially from last night asking where she was, and then from this morning apologizing frantically and asking if she was okay. She typed out a hasty reply.

Salomé Rowe: i'm ok. just really tired and still processing everything.

Salomé Rowe: i took some Ativan and am getting tired so i'm gonna try to sleep for a bit. i'll call you guys later.

Her eyelids were drooping and she was about to toss her phone to the other side of the bed when she noticed that the case was sticking out weirdly, as if someone had started to snap it off but had only snapped off the bottom half. When she looked closer, she saw that there was something in between the case and the back of the phone. She snapped the case off completely and two stiff pieces of paper fell into her lap. The first made her gasp and clap a hand over her mouth.

It was a playing card from a deck. A joker.

The second wasn't paper at all. It was plastic, and it had a photo, a name, a date of birth, and an address on it.

It was her rapist's driver's license.

* * *

I hope you liked it! I'll try to post Chapter 4 tomorrow. As a general rule I'm going to try to post at the very least every other day.

xo,

nightmoth


	4. Metamorphosis

Sorry for the short chapter. The next one is a big one, so I thought it would be best to have it stand on its own and make this one a bit more of a filler. Might post the next one tonight as well, depending how long it takes me to edit.

Still, though, enjoy!

 _Disclaimer: I own nothing but my OCs. The Joker and Bruce Wayne/The Batman are property of DC Comics._

* * *

 **Chapter 4**

It had been over a month since the assault. That first night, she had dreamt of that searing pain inside her as he had forced himself into her. And she had dreamt of the Joker. Of his face, looking down at her and the feel of his warm leather glove wrapped around her arm. She had woken up in a cold sweat and barely made it to the toilet before throwing up.

Since then, she had slept only a few hours at a time, always waking up from her nightmares sweating and crying. She had hidden the Joker's card and her rapist's ID (his name was Liam. Liam Noss.) in the drawer of her bedside table. She knew the Joker had left it for her to get her revenge, but she hadn't felt vengeful yet. She just felt grief, and a paralyzing blanket of depression and anxiety.

She also knew that she could easily get her rapist arrested now. She had his name, and he had told her he was the manager of Le Disco. But somehow, she didn't want to do that. If she did, she would have to tell the police how she got his ID. And more than that… She was pretty sure that wasn't why the Joker had given it to her. She didn't know why she cared about what the Joker's purpose was in doing it, but she just… did. She was half terrified that he was watching her and would hurt her if she went to the police, and she was half grateful that he had helped her. She was now certain that it was he who had called the ambulance.

She had tried to go back to work after a week of recovery, but she couldn't focus on anything because she wasn't sleeping, and she couldn't be near anyone because being touched made her spiral into a panic attack. Her mother had told her to take a hiatus from working for a while.

She had spent the first two weeks in her apartment, laying in bed or on the couch, soaking in the bathtub, and forgetting to eat. Martha and Chloe had come by a few times with gift baskets full of magazines and snacks, and her parents had delivered groceries to her, which had rotted in the fridge.

When the third week rolled around, she had forced herself to leave her apartment a few times, even if it was just to ask Edwin to drive her around town for a while or to walk down the block to get a coffee. But she still felt that paralyzing blanket, which kept her stifled in her grief.

She had begun to notice some changes in herself. She didn't feel drawn to people like she used to. She didn't feel that constant tug of empathy, or that need to please. And her disappointment and despair towards the human race, which had always weighed heavily on her, had grown exponentially. Sometimes she felt like human life wasn't even valuable, and that terrified her. She barely spoke to anyone, and found that she didn't miss talking to people. But then she would think of her parents, and Martha and Chloe, who had been so caring towards her, and she would be filled with guilt and love.

This jumble of emotions had been confusing and difficult to deal with, like hearing a bunch of voices arguing over each other. But by the fourth week, one emotion had begun to reign over the rest: rage. It would attack her suddenly. One second she would be crying, and the next it would swell inside her, making her vibrate with its power so intensely that she became absolutely beside herself with fear afterwards. But the anger kept coming back, no matter how many times she tried to stamp it down.

That was what finally drove her, one day, to open her bedside drawer and pull out Liam Noss's ID.

* * *

She scrolled down the web page in a fugue state, gazing at the various weapons in the "miscellaneous" tab of the web site. You really could find anything on the Internet these days. She had already added a small knife to her cart. She hadn't looked at guns yet. She wasn't sure that was the direction she wanted to go- if she wanted to be that intense about protecting herself.

She had decided to look at weapons after examining Liam Noss's ID. When she looked at it, she had felt that rage monster swell up in her, and she had decided she never wanted to be so vulnerable again. That, and she wanted revenge.

That was where she found herself as she scrolled madly down the page, pausing when something golden caught her eye. It was a set of brass knuckles. There were letters on each knuckle. One hand said "LOVE" and the other said "HATE". In between the letters were dull little spikes. She added them to her cart and checked out.

Then she stared at the screen and started breathing rapidly as she realized what she'd just done. She had just bought weapons.

She breathed deeply. _It's fine,_ she thought. _They're just for protection. You're just protecting yourself! Who could blame you after what happened?_

She nodded resolutely. Yes, it was just for protection. She didn't need revenge. She just didn't ever want to have to rely on the Joker again.

* * *

She was getting ready for her first day back at work. Well, she wasn't really going to be working _that_ hard. She was just supposed to "dip her toes in the water", as her mother had put it. See how it felt to be back in her office for a few hours. She had almost decided to call it off, but managed to persuade herself to go forward by the time the early afternoon rolled around.

She had been feeling more like herself in the last couple weeks. The arrival of the weapons she had ordered helped. It hadn't escaped her that she had chosen two pretty weird and inconvenient weapons. Most people just bought pepper spray or a Taser gun. But just the same, when she slid her fingers into the holes of the brass knuckles, she felt better. More able to control her life. She had ordered a small size, so they fit her slender fingers perfectly- loose enough to slide on and off easily, but tight enough that she would be able to wear them for long periods of time without discomfort, if she wanted to.

She slipped on an oversized baby blue crewneck sweatshirt that ended up being minidress length on her, and then applied some light makeup at her vanity table. Spring was underway and it was a balmy fifty degrees out, so she decided to forego tights and pulled on a pair of high-heeled thigh high grey suede boots over her bare legs. Her hair was a little messy, but she liked the way it looked. She left it down in loose, grungy waves.

She pulled on a knee-length grey wool coat, which she left open, and hooked the grey Céline bag that matched her boots over the crook of her elbow. Then she headed toward the elevator, but paused as the brass knuckles caught her eye from the table in the foyer. She moved toward them and brushed her fingers over them gently before slipping one into each coat pocket. It wasn't that she thought she was going to be attacked or anything. They just made her feel a bit braver. She pressed the button to the elevator and slipped her fingertips in and out of the knuckles in her pockets as she went down.

Edwin was waiting for her in the car outside. He turned back and smiled at her as she slid into the back seat.

"Ready for your first day back?" he asked as he put the car in gear and peeled away from the curb.

"As ready as I'll ever be," she said, grimacing. "Don't be surprised if I call you in an hour to come and save me, okay?"

Edwin chuckled. "Actually, I will be surprised. You're not a quitter." He looked at her pointedly in the rearview mirror. Salomé smiled. His words made her feel a little less nervous, but by the time they were a couple blocks from the office, she was wringing her hands in anxiety again.

"Edwin, could you let me out here? I just want to get a coffee and collect myself for a minute before going in there."

"Sure thing. Just remember, it's not a normal situation. The boss is your mom, and she's not gonna make you work if you're not ready." He gave her an encouraging look.

"Thanks, Ed," she smiled gratefully. "I'll see you later." She stepped out of the car and glanced up and down the block as he drove off, weighing her options. She had started walking towards the nearest Starbucks when she noticed a bar across the street. She hesitated. Drinking before work wasn't the best way to start back up again, but a drink _would_ calm her nerves.

She glanced both ways before jogging across the street and ducking into the bar. It was a very clean and trendy place, with booths and a long bar top. Only a few people were inside. She walked toward the back end of the bar, sliding onto a stool a few stools away from the back wall.

The bartender approached her. "What can I get for you?" he asked.

"Uh, Johnny Walker, please," she replied, before adding, "Neat."

She nursed her drink, deep in thought about whether or not she was truly ready to walk back into that office. She knew everyone would have a ton of questions for her that she didn't want to answer. She had never really explained what was going on to any of her colleagues, and she knew her mother would leave it to her to do so if and when she was ready.

She took a sip of whiskey. It was warming her from the inside, making her feel a little more relaxed.

A group of guys was coming into the bar, injecting the place with some noise.

She glanced down the bar at them, moving her eyes over each one. _Typical Diamond District trust fund bros,_ she thought, rolling her eyes as she moved from the second one to the third.

She froze when she saw the dark blonde hair and smug blue eyes.

It was _him_. Liam.

* * *

Hokay, so big stuff coming next chapter. Some sweet payback, the Joker, maybe a lil lemon... who knows? :)

-nightmoth


	5. Liam

Eeeeeee! A huge and ardent thank you to the angels noorxoxo and siriusbarks for reviewing! :) I'm so glad you guys are enjoying the story so far, it puts a huge grin on my face.

I decided to go ahead and post Chapter 5, since Ch. 4 was kinda short and ended on a cliffhanger. I really love this chapter and it's a very important one, so I hope you love it too! Big milestone for our little bird. :)

This chapter is kinda long and it's 1:30 am, so I apologize if there are any mistakes. I did proofread, but ya know. I'm sleepy and stuff.

Warning: lemon ahead.

 _Disclaimer: I own nothing but my OCs. The Joker and Bruce Wayne/The Batman are property of DC Comics._

* * *

It was _him_. Liam.

A bolt of panic struck through Salomé and she took a deep breath, quickly turning away and letting her hair fall in front of her face. She needed to think. She could leave. She could run… or she could meet the Joker's challenge. What were the odds that she would ever run into him again like this? She looked over at him again, studying his smug face as he laughed with his friends. She felt the rage stir sleepily inside of her. She took another deep, steadying breath, making her mind up. She slid off the stool and ducked into the ladies' room.

She fished her phone out of her bag and dialed her mother.

"Salomé? Where are you? I thought you were coming in today." Her mother's voice came through sharp and clear.

"I know, I was going to," she said. "I'm sorry, mom, but I just don't think I'm feeling up for it today. I'll try again tomorrow, okay?"

Her mother sighed. "It's okay, sweetheart. You need to come back when you feel totally ready. Call me later on. _Je t'aime._ " She hung up.

Salome slipped back out of the bathroom and onto her stool. She was going to watch, and wait. And come up with a plan, of course. But first, she needed to get tipsy enough for the darkness inside her to come to the surface. She tipped back her head and swallowed the rest of the whiskey in her glass, ignoring her gag reflex. She flagged down the bartender and asked for another.

She observed the group from behind her hair. There were five of them and they all looked similar: swaggy, young rich guys. She wondered if they were all rapists. She recalled, darkly, how Liam had winked at the bartender at Le Disco and told him to make her drink "extra special". She had thought he was just trying to be charming, but it was clear that he was signaling to the bartender to slip something in her drink. She wondered how many girls he had done this to before. The thought made her stomach twist with anger.

She tossed back the rest of her second whiskey, and held her empty glass up toward the bartender to signal for another one.

She was starting to feel warm and brave, and she felt the dragon inside lift its head. She studied the group. She was waiting for them to get drunk. If he was drunk, he would be easier to manipulate. She didn't toss this drink back, but nursed it. She needed to be present and in control.

The group was starting to get rowdy. She had observed them taking shots, so it hadn't taken long for them to start getting loose. It was almost time.

Finally, Liam broke away from the group and headed toward the restroom. She ducked her head down towards her drink as he neared. He walked past her without even seeing her. She inhaled deeply. _Showtime,_ she thought.

When Liam walked by her on his way back to his friends, she turned in her stool. "Heeeyyy," she said, as though she were greeting a good friend who she hadn't seen in a while. She was also making an effort to sound drunk. She saw first recognition, and then panic flash in his eyes when he turned to look at her, but he didn't say anything.

She smiled sweetly. "Bridgitte, from that night at Le Disco a couple months back, remember?"

He inclined his head warily in acknowledgment, but still said nothing. Salomé continued in what she hoped was an affectionately tipsy tone, "I'm so happy to run into you! You know, I'd been kicking myself because I didn't even think to ask for your name or anything that night. I'm so rude." She rolled her eyes and let out a convincingly rueful chuckle. Seemingly deciding that she truly didn't remember what had happened, he finally turned and took a step towards her, smirking.

"It's all good, you seemed pretty out of it."

Salomé laughed, feeling the heat rise to her face. _Fucking asshole,_ she thought. But she was glad that her face was turning red because it probably just looked like she was blushing in embarrassment.

"Can I buy you a drink?" she asked. He glanced hesitantly back towards his friends. "You know, as my little way of saying sorry?" She gave him a dazzling smile and peered up at him through her lashes.

He shrugged and stepped forward again. "Why not?" he said, leaning his forearms against the surface of the bar.

"What are you drinking?" she asked, echoing his words from that night.

"Uh, whatever you're having, I guess," he said, smiling. She flagged down the bartender.

"Can we get another one of these, please?" She gestured towards her drink. Then she turned back to Liam. "So what _is_ your name, anyway?"

"Liam."

"Nice to meet you, Liam," she purred, holding out her hand to shake his. He placed his hand in hers and she stifled her revulsion as she shook it, letting her fingers linger on his just a little too long before sliding her hand off.

"Come on, drink up," she said, raising her glass. "You gotta catch up to me." She made as though she was tilting her head back to drink the whole thing, and he did the same. She took a normal sized sip, while he drained the contents of his glass.

She slapped her hand against the bar. "Another one," she called to the bartender. Liam was laughing. She surreptitiously scooted her stool closer to him and then crossed one leg over the other so that her ankle was brushing against his knee. He glanced up at her at the contact. She leaned her head sideways onto her hand and grinned.

"So, what are you doing here, drinking all by yourself in the afternoon?" he asked, taking a sip of his new drink.

"Well, I was sup _posed_ to meet my friend," she began, "but she flaked on me. Which is why I'm really glad _you_ decided to show up." She brushed her hand lightly over his as she finished her sentence. "Now I didn't get drunk for nothing."

He cocked an eyebrow. "You know I came here with people, right?"

She bit her lip and nodded, scooting closer. "Yeah, but I'm hoping," she pressed her thigh against his and looked him in the eye, cupping her chin innocently, "that you'll ignore them for me." He stared at her, and he saw arousal flash in his eyes. She had him. But she had to pump the breaks. Glancing out of the window at the front of the bar, she could see that the sun was still setting. She needed to do this in the dark, at night, when Gotham started to come alive and there was noise to give them privacy.

She gave him a slow, seductive smile and withdrew a little, taking a sip of her drink. But she kept her leg against his. "You never said what _you_ were doing here drinking in broad daylight."

"Well, club promoters don't exactly keep regular hours," he smirked. "It's still nine-to-five, just not the same nine-to-five as everyone else."

"And why would you come and pay for drinks at this bar when you can get free drinks at your club?"

"I like to switch things up once in a while," he said huskily, running his eyes up and down her body and leaning a little closer. She felt a ripple of disgust but barely noticed it. The dragon inside her had filled her up with its heat, and she felt its bravery and anticipation. She was so close to getting what she wanted.

She leaned forward and curled her lips into a little smile.

"Me too," she said, almost in a whisper.

They stared at each other for a long moment before she closed the distance between them and crashed her lips against his, slipping her tongue against the crease of his lips, which he eagerly parted for her. He reached up and tangled a hand in her hair. She resisted the urge to slap his hand away as she remembered him doing the same thing the night he raped her.

 _Just get through this part, just get through this part..._ she chanted to herself.

She slid her tongue down the length of his and then slowly flicked it upwards, licking his upper lip. His eyes were completely black with desire now. She pulled back and finished her drink in one long, smooth gulp. She glanced out the window again. It was dark.

"Wanna get out of here?" she asked breathily, blindly reaching into her bag and slapping some cash on the table. He was nibbling on her neck now, and she felt his breath hot in her ear when he spoke.

"Yeah, actually, I know how to get to the roof of this place," he said. She raised her eyebrows. _I was gonna do this in an alleyway, but a roof is actually even better,_ she thought.

The bar had filled up with the happy hour crowd, and the bartender was distracted enough for them to slip through a door in the back unnoticed. She continued her drunk act, giggling and stumbling and clutching on to his hand, pausing to slam him against the wall and lock her lips with his as she let him lead her up the stairs.

He got to the door of the roof and let go of her hand to open it. He waited for her to pass through the door in front of him but she swept her arm gracefully towards the outside. "After you," she giggled, curtsying.

She held the door open with her shoulder as he smirked and turned his back to step through it. She slipped her hands into her coat pockets, curling her fingers into the holes of her brass knuckles. And then she quietly placed her bag on the ground outside the door before stepping through.

He didn't have time to turn or react before she slammed the four-inch heel of her boot into the back of his knee with all her might. He dropped to his knees with a surprised grunt and she used all her strength to kick him again at the base of his spine, sending him sprawling forward onto the gravel.

Just as he turned over on his back to look at her in shock, she leapt on top of him, straddling his waist and pinning his arms underneath her bare thighs. She fisted one brass-knuckled hand in his hair and slammed his head back onto the hard ground, leaning in close towards his face. The rage and fire pulsed hard through her, intoxicating her as she looked him in the eyes. His eyes were filled with fear and realization.

Her voice was calm when she spoke, albeit a bit breathy.

"I remember."

He tried to lift his head. "What the fu-"

But he didn't have time to finish because she released his head, drew back her right fist, and slammed it into his jaw with a savage grunt.

 _Him, looking up at her, his fingers sliding up her inner thighs and into her underwear._

She fisted her other hand around the collar of his shirt so that the spiked knuckles- the ones that said "LOVE"- pressed hard into the base of his throat as she pushed him down.

 _Him, biting down on her neck as she feebly pushed at his shoulders._

She whipped her fist back- the one bearing the knuckles that said "HATE"- and brought it down again, this time on his cheekbone.

 _Him, winking at the bartender._

He was crying out in pain.

 _Him, digging his fingers into her thighs as he pulled them apart._

She brought it down next on his eye, and then his ear.

 _Him, slamming her head into the brick as he lifted her up and pinned her against the wall._

She was panting rapidly, sucking oxygen into her lungs at a rate that was making her feel lightheaded. Her control slipped away.

 _Him, making her bleed as he pushed into her._

She felt hatred and anger and power pouring out of her every time her knuckles smashed against his face. It was ecstasy.

She removed her left hand from his shirt and used it to grab his jaw, holding his face still while she drew back and smashed her right fist square into his nose. She felt the satisfying crunch of it breaking, and relished in the sight of blood pouring down the lower half of his face. He was yelling out in agony.

She punched his nose again.

She slammed her fist into his mouth, breaking his teeth.

She slammed it back into his nose.

She could feel the little droplets of blood hitting her in the face with each impact. She slammed her knuckles into his cheek.

She could taste his blood on her lips.

She slammed her fist into his jaw.

He wasn't making noise anymore.

She sat up, panting violently and shaking. Her knuckles were covered in his blood. She could feel it dripping down her face. Her whole body felt like it was burning, every nerve alight as she let the fire inside her swallow her whole.

She threw her head back and screamed.

* * *

The Joker sat in the back seat of the Escalade, twirling a knife in his hand as he replayed what he'd just seen in his head.

He had been keeping tabs on the little bird since he'd left her his little _homework_ assignment on the night she was attacked. He wanted to see how the experiment played out. The little bird… or _Salomé._ He had nearly giggled with happiness when he'd read her name on her driver's license that night. Gotham's little princess.

It had made him even more curious about what she would do, so he'd been watching her. Closely. Well, not _him_ personally- he was much too busy for that. But he'd had his goons tailing her every move since that night, not that there were many moves to tail. For months she'd acted like a pathetic little coward, barely even leaving her building. He had been about to write the whole thing off as a failure, but then he had gotten the call.

The little bird was at a _bar_. And as if that gem wasn't enough, lo and behold, the rapist had walked in a mere hour later. He had clapped his hands in delight when he'd received _that_ text. It was just too much. He'd gotten in the Escalade and told his driver to take him to that bar.

He'd been waiting on the roof, planning to watch from above as the scene unfolded in the alleys, where he was sure she would lure the rapist. Little did he know that he'd actually be getting floor seats to the big show. That was the lucky spot he'd been in when the whole scene unfolded- leaning in the shadows of a large exhaust pipe a mere few yards away.

He'd watched as she pummeled him with her fists, her slim bare thighs visible from the tops of her boots all the way up to her white lace underwear. He'd raised his eyebrows when he saw the golden glint on her hands. _Brass knuckles,_ he'd thought, smirking. _How fascinating._

She'd smashed the rapist's face so many times, he thought she might've killed him. She had been speckled in his blood, her whole face dotted with it, which made the Joker's smirk grow.

And then it had grown even further, into a wide grin, when she'd thrown her head back and let that scream erupt from her little throat.

It was an inhuman sound, full of anger and ecstasy… and _chaos_. He could still hear it now, leaning his head back on the headrest as they drove back toward the warehouse, and it brought the grin back to his painted face.

 _Atta girl,_ he thought.

* * *

She strode through the alleyways behind the buildings, her body still buzzing and crackling with the heat of what she'd just done. She was soaring from it.

She had left him there on the roof. She didn't know if he'd live. She didn't care.

She pulled her sleeve down over one hand and used it to wipe the blood off her face. She would have to throw out this sweatshirt when this was all said and done.

She waited at the mouth of one of the alleys, watching the traffic go by until an empty cab happened to pause in front of where she stood. Seizing the opportunity, she darted out of the alley and into the back seat, ignoring the driver's shocked expression as she told him her address. She still had the brass knuckles on her hands, and they were sticky with blood. She pulled the sleeves of her sweatshirt down to cover them.

She was out of the cab the second it pulled up to her building, tossing a $50 bill on the front passenger seat.

She dropped her purse and her bloodied coat on a nearby chair as she stepped out of the elevator into her apartment, and shed the rest of her clothes as she walked through until she was standing in her bathroom wearing nothing but the brass knuckles.

She studied her body in the mirror. It felt completely electrified, each nerve awake and itching. She ran her hands through her hair, then down over her face and neck, sliding her fingers over her collarbone. The bloody brass knuckles left a smearing trail of blood everywhere she touched. She paused to cup her breasts before dropping her hands to her sides and moving towards the shower.

She turned the dial to the hottest setting and slid the glass door shut, leaning back against the cool marble and closing her eyes as the hot water fell over her. The temperature of the water was slowly increasing, making her nerve endings burn even brighter. Soon her hands were moving over her body again, kneading slowly over her breasts and pinching her nipples. One hand slid firmly down her stomach until it reached her sex, which was slick. And not from the shower.

It was the first time she had touched herself since before the attack.

Her fingers moved slowly over her clit before continuing to her opening, and she sighed at the spike of pleasure that shot through her. Her hips jerked a little when the brass knuckles brushed against the sensitive bud of nerves. Her left hand continued to roll a nipple between two fingers while the middle and ring fingers of her right hand began to move in slow circles around her clit. The blood clinging to the brass knuckles was beginning to run off in pink streams down her body.

She thought about the power she'd felt as she straddled Liam's body and screamed into the night. Her fingers began to circle faster as a little flicker came to life somewhere behind her navel.

She brought the index and middle finger of her other hand to her mouth, coating them in saliva with her tongue before bringing them down to her opening and slowly pushing them inside her. She let out a throaty moan at the stretching friction she felt and circled her clit a little faster, the flicker behind her navel growing.

She thought about how brave and free she'd felt walking through the alleys afterward. She curled her fingers inside her, finding that elusive spot, and the flicker turned into a flame. She rubbed faster, bucking her hips into her hand rhythmically.

She thought about her brass knuckles, and how they brushed against her opening every time she slid her fingers inside. The flame swelled and tingled, and she chased after it, bucking her hips harder against her thrusting fingers and moving her other hand desperately over her clit.

She was panting, mewling little whimpers falling out of her mouth.

And then she thought about the Joker. How he had saved her… how he had given her her revenge.

She let out a long wail that turned into a strangled sob as she crashed over the edge, riding her hand wildly, the crown of her head pressed hard against the marble as she arched her back. She didn't remove her fingers until the spasms stopped.

She remained there with her back arched and her eyes closed, breathing deeply as the tingling sensations faded. The thrumming of the shower soothed her.

Then she washed off the dewy wetness, turned off the water, and wrapped a towel around herself. Her body had finally run out of juice, and she felt completely drained.

She walked into her room and dropped her towel to the floor, collapsing into her bed without even drying herself off properly.

That night she slept deeply, and without a single nightmare.

* * *

So? What do you think? Did Liam get what he deserved, or is Salomé going off the deep end in a big way? ...Maybe a lil bit of both? hehehe.

Okay, I'm going to sleep now, bye.

-nightmoth


	6. The Nightmoth

Hello, beautiful people! Sorry I didn't get this posted yesterday. The holidays and what not, you know how it is.

Shoutout and thank you to noorxoxo and floetry for the reviews! They warmed my black little heart as usual.

In response to floetry: It's not so much that Salomé is a different person now than she was before. What I'm trying to get across is that it's like she has these two people inside her- the good Salomé and the bad Salomé. The good one is where her humanity is, but the bad one is where her strength and freedom are, so she's struggling. She's been pushing down the bad side for so long that it's kind of ripping through uncontrolled now- helped along by the Joker, of course. :) To answer your question, the Joker and our little bird will have their first official face to face meeting in the next chapter, and things will pick up from there.

As a note, this isn't an instant-gratification fic, because I want it to be as realistic as possible. I wouldn't call it a slow burn by any means, but I'm also not gonna start throwing out the lemons and love confessions left and right.

So this is a bit more of a filler chapter, setting things up for what's to come. Sorry about that. I'm aiming to post the next one tomorrow. I'm not going to do two-a-days so much anymore because it makes it hard for me to stay ahead with the writing.

Also in this chapter you get a little inkling of where my pen name comes from. ;) Anyhoo, enjoy! Sorry for the long note.

 _Disclaimer: I own nothing but my OCs._ _The Joker and Bruce Wayne/The Batman are property of DC Comics._

* * *

 **Chapter 6**

She awoke slowly, opening her eyes to sunshine flooding her bedroom. She turned her head towards the clock on her bedside table. 8 A.M. She stared at the ceiling a moment, thinking about the events of the day before. She couldn't help the smile that spread across her face. She still felt the fire and power at the surface of her skin, though it had calmed to a soft glow rather than the electrifying buzz she had felt last night.

She didn't feel guilty- he had it coming, after all. She felt pride. Even if he survived, she was sure she had given him permanent damage. He would never hurt another girl again.

Her thoughts darkened as she thought about the bartender who had drugged her so that Liam could do his vile work. Chris, Liam had called him. He was still out there, and with a ready supply of Rohypnol at his disposal. She felt the familiar rage stir within her.

She lifted a hand to her face to rub her eyes, and noticed that she still had the brass knuckles on. She pulled them off one by one and studied them, running her fingertips over the grooves in the letters. She thought of the bartender again. He shouldn't be allowed to walk away from what he did to her. He shouldn't be allowed to walk away from what he did to God knows how many other girls.

She placed the brass knuckles on the bedside table, making up her mind. Tonight, she was going to get Chris the bartender's number. She was going to watch him, and learn his habits.

But first, she had to go back to work. She pushed back the covers and slid out of bed, heading to the bathroom to begin her morning routine. As she brushed her teeth, she noticed that her hair had grown out quite a bit. It now easily reached down to her breasts. She was normally rigid about getting her hair cut on a schedule, but she decided to leave it. She liked the way it looked long.

She pulled on a black bodysuit with extra long sleeves, black high-waisted jeans cropped at the ankles, and her white Superga platform sneakers, topping the outfit off with a leather moto jacket to shield from the spring chill. Then she tossed her wallet, phone, keys, and brass knuckles into her black Fendi peekaboo bag and was out the door.

She had given Edwin the day off, so she rode the elevator all the way down to the parking lot. She hardly ever drove her car- a black Audi sportscar that her mother had given her as a gift after she had designed her first full collection for the label. It had a beautiful tan leather interior, and she loved it. As she slid in behind the wheel, plopping her bag down on the passenger seat, she decided she was going to start driving this baby more often. She rolled the windows down, enjoying the way the brisk air felt on her face.

She felt a ripple of nerves as she pulled into her reserved spot at the office, but then she thought about what she had done last night. A few hours in an office was nothing. She got out of the car and headed for the elevator, pushing her nerves aside.

She felt all eyes on her as she stepped off the elevator on the top floor, hanging a right to head to her mother's office in the executive department. Her mother was on the phone, facing the floor-to-ceiling window in her office with her back to the door. Salomé knocked on the doorframe and she turned, a smile immediately spreading across her face.

"I'm sorry, darling, but I'll have to call you back. My daughter is here," she said into the receiver. "Yes, of course. Take care, darling." She hung up, stood, and crossed the room to wrap Salomé in her arms. "Welcome back, _trésor_ ," she said warmly, cupping Salomé's cheeks with her hands. Salomé smiled, taking her mother's hand from where it rested on her cheek and squeezing it. Jeanne gestured for her to sit in front of her desk before returning to her chair.

"I've had to go ahead and finish next season without you," Jeanne said. "I tried to wait for you as long as I could, but we had a deadline. I hope you understand, darling."

"Of course," Salomé said, waving her hand dismissively. "I'm glad you finished it. I'll look over all the pieces and catch up before I get started on the spring collection."

"Good," her mother said. She peered at her over her glasses with an amused expression on her face. "Claudia is going to be thrilled to see you. I put her in charge of the design department while you were gone, and she's had quite the time keeping everything under control."

Salomé laughed. "Oh, God, mom. Why would you do that? Poor girl. I'm going to have to give her a vacation now." Jeanne waved her off.

"Don't be silly. If she's smart, she'll be grateful for the opportunity." She snorted. "I daresay she'll be an even better assistant to you now that she's had the experience."

Salomé rolled her eyes, standing up. "She was already a perfectly fine assistant before. I'll see you later, mom."

Two-dozen sets of eyes shot to her when she opened the door to the design department. "Party's over, guys, mama's back," she called out. Her team laughed as they stood and moved toward her to welcome her back.

"Oh, thank God," Claudia exclaimed, throwing her arms around Salomé's neck. Salomé laughed.

"My mom told me you'd be happy to see me. You're relieved of your duties. You can now go back to the _carefree_ existence of being my assistant," she quipped, slinging an arm over Claudia's shoulder and putting "carefree" in air quotes.

"How was your time off?" Maria, one of the design assistants, asked.

"It was good," Salomé replied, moving through the group and toward her office door. "Found out some new things about myself." She grinned sardonically. "Okay, my beauties, get your thoughts together," she called out over her shoulder as she unlocked her door. "I want to have a lunch meeting in two hours where you all have to catch me up on where we're at for the fall collection and what you all have been doing since I left. Chop, chop." She shut the door to her office and tossed her bag on the couch before sitting at her desk.

She thought for a moment about her plans for the bartender. She would need to observe him for a few nights before acting. When the time came for her to act, it all had to be perfect. She doubted that improvising would work so well for her a second time. From here on out, she would have to plan ahead.

She paused at what she had just thought. _From here on out…. Because I don't want to stop doing this._

She wasn't sure how she felt about that.

The rest of the workday passed quickly. After the meeting, Salomé had gone through and given final approval to all of the pieces her mother had designed for the fall collection. Then she'd had to start brainstorming for the following spring's collection, which they were already a bit behind on. Before she knew it, it was six o'clock and the office was emptying out. She shut down her computer, grabbed her bag and locked her office door before riding the elevator down to her car.

* * *

Salomé watched and waited. She leaned against the wall in a dark corner of the alley behind Le Disco, observing the smoking partygoers. She'd started by asking the bouncer if Chris the bartender was working tonight. He'd said yes. Then she'd asked if staff usually came out of the front or back door at the end of their shifts. He'd said they were required to leave through the back. She'd asked what time Chris the bartender would be off tonight. He'd said last call was at two-thirty, so shortly after that.

Salomé shook her head amusedly as she waited. It had been so easy to get all the info she needed to literally stalk someone. _I guess all it takes is a pretty face, and you can find out anything you want,_ she thought darkly.

She was dressed in a black sweatshirt with a hood, which she had pulled up over her head, and the same jeans and leather jacket she had been wearing earlier. She'd left the brass knuckles at home.

Her car was parked a few blocks away. The goal for tonight was to see how he got home and in what direction he lived. Once she got that information, she would leave. She checked her phone for the time. It was two-thirty A.M. Last call was being served now, which meant that it shouldn't be too much longer before he walked out. She was expecting for him to either cab or drive home.

The staff started trickling out of the club about twenty minutes later, and Salomé perked up. Sure enough, he slipped out of the door. She recognized his wide, scruffy face. She followed at a safe distance as he turned right out of the alleyway and onto the sidewalk. To her surprise, he didn't hail a cab. _He walks to work,_ she thought. _How convenient for me_. She had seen the other staff members get into cars parked directly behind the club, so she deduced that he didn't drive himself to work. Mission accomplished.

She turned on her heel and walked back in the opposite direction towards her car. As she walked past a small costume shop, something caught her eye in the window. It was a simple black satin mask. It had angled, cat-like eye-holes and looked like it would cover the whole top half of someone's face.

Her mind returned to the thought she'd had earlier in the day: that she didn't want to stop doing this. She loved it. She loved releasing the darkness inside her, and she loved that in doing so she could protect others from the depravity of people like Liam- others who were vulnerable, like she had been. She loved the idea of being vindicated every time she punished another Liam, another Chris the bartender. She loved being present and getting her hands dirty, instead of interacting with the world at arm's length in her ivory tower. She loved the metamorphosis she had undergone. She felt like a timid caterpillar that had turned into a butterfly.

No, not a butterfly- butterflies were clean and delicate and creatures of the sun. No, she was more like a moth, sleeping through her days only to come alive at night, misunderstood by many, but still chasing down a purpose she was only just discovering. She smiled to herself at the analogy. _A deadly moth, but a moth nonetheless._ She looked at the mask again, contemplating what it could mean for her. Then she continued on the path back to her car, taking note of the shop's name and hours as she walked away.

* * *

"Claudia, I'm going to be in a couple hours late this morning because I have an appointment," Salomé called towards her phone, where Claudia was on the line on speakerphone.

She pulled her sleep-shirt off over her head and looked over her shoulder at her back in the bathroom mirror. Her eyes roamed over the tattoos she had there- a voodoo symbol on the back of her left arm just above the elbow, "determination" written in Arabic on the inside of that same elbow, a small triangle at the base of her neck. She often forgot they were there. The duality of her body, one side clean cut and pristine, other bearing tattoos, resonated with her at this moment, given everything that had happened lately.

"What time will you be in?" Claudia asked.

"Uh, probably around noon," Salomé said. "Can you pass the message along to my mom?"

"Yeah, for sure."

"And one more thing- I need you to order some stuff for me. Can you get me twenty of the mini slip dress from last season in black, my size, and then call Céline and have them send over the heeled thigh-high boots from last season, five black, and one in every other color? My size again. Just use the company card and have them sent to my office. Use the number for the head of sales to call Céline, it'll be faster. I'll text it to you right now. She knows me."

"Twenty? Of the exact same dress?" Claudia asked uncertainly.

"Yeah, please."

"Okay… but they probably won't be able to get all this stuff to you before tomorrow."

"That's fine, I don't need them tonight. Thanks, babe, see you later," she said before tapping the red button on her phone to hang up.

She pulled on a black cropped racerback tank top with rose gold snaps down the front, some tight high-waisted blue jeans, and a pair of comfortable black leather Chelsea boots with a stacked 3-inch heel. Then she tossed her wallet and a light sweater into her black Gucci bamboo backpack. She grabbed her keys and sunglasses off the foyer table before pressing the button for the elevator.

* * *

Salomé wore a satisfied grin as she pulled the Audi in to her reserved spot at work. She pulled on the cropped black sweater she had packed, then grabbed her backpack, locked up the car, and headed for the elevator.

"The dresses and boots should be in your office tomorrow morning," Claudia said as Salomé walked by her desk.

"Thanks, girl," she said as she sailed into her office, pulling her sunglasses off her face and plopping them down onto the coffee table along with her backpack. She shut the door and pulled her sweater off over her head. Moving over to the mirror, she turned so she could see the bandage on the back of her right arm. She knew she was supposed to wait a few more hours, but she couldn't help it. She wanted to look.

She slowly peeled back the tape. It was in the exact same spot as the voodoo tattoo on her other arm. Except this one was a moth. A death's head moth, its wings extended, done in black ink with precise, sharp lines and soft shading, except for the skull shaped mark on the moth's back, which was done in white. She stared at it a moment longer, a small smile forming on her lips.

She turned back towards the coffee table, moving towards it and fishing around in her backpack before pulling out the black mask she had seen on the walk back to her car the night before. She ran the black manicured nail of her index finger over the smooth silk and then placed it back into her bag, before replacing the bandage and pulling her sweater back on.

She flopped down into the chair behind her desk. She usually loved her job, but she would have to force herself to focus on designing the next collection for the rest of the day. Because tonight she was going back to the club to watch the bartender.

* * *

She didn't stand in the shadows this time, choosing instead to blend in like any other partygoer. She leaned back against the wall with one leg bent up, smoking a cigarette as she waited. She looked just like any of the rest of them in the same skintight-jeans-and-black-top outfit she had been wearing earlier.

He walked out shortly after last call, just like last night. Salomé let him get a head start before pushing off the wall and padding quietly after him. Like last night, he turned right out of the alley. He continued straight on the sidewalk for four blocks, then hung another right into a new alley. This alley was much quieter- and darker- than the one behind Le Disco. _This has potential,_ she thought.

He turned left into another stretch of alley before turning right again into the loading dock of what she assumed was his apartment building. He touched an electronic badge to a sensor by the door and went inside. Salomé turned and walked back the way they'd come, considering her options as she went.

She would have to do it in that dark, quiet stretch of alley between the sidewalk and the alley where his apartment building was. She slid behind the wheel of her car and turned the key in the ignition. She had been tempted to choose the alley behind Le Disco for its poetic echo to her attack, but it was too risky. Too many people nearby. No, the alley near his apartment would do fine.

She felt a ripple of some combination of feelings as she drove home. Anticipation, nerves, excitement- but, surprisingly, no guilt or second thoughts. She felt a pang of panic when she realized this, but pushed it away.

That little pang of panic was no match for how badly she wanted to finish what she'd started.

* * *

So again, sorry for the filler chapter. Not as happy with it as I could be, but I needed to get the ducks in a row for the next thing, which is the bartender's reckoning and some face-to-face Joker time.

xo nightmoth


	7. Gods & Monsters

So, I really tried to post this last night... truly. But editing and posting takes me a while because I'm a perfectionist, and I was so tired that I couldn't even focus on proofreading, so I thought it would be better for me to look over it with fresh eyes this morning before posting. I'm sorry!

We get some Joker goodness in this chapter! Things are really gonna pick up from here on out, with lots more Joker, and the Batman is going to make his debut as well. :)

Enjoy, and let me know what you think in a review if you feel like it! Always means a lot, as you know.

The song in this chapter is "Gods and Monsters" by Lana del Rey, btw.

 _Disclaimer: I own nothing but my OCs. The Joker and Bruce Wayne/The Batman are property of DC Comics._

* * *

 **Chapter 7**

Salomé stepped out of the shower. She felt pink and pure and perfect.

The sun had just gone down, and she was slowly getting ready for the night ahead. She wrapped herself in a towel and moved into her bedroom, approaching her computer to put her music library on shuffle while she got ready. She turned the volume all the way up and padded into the living room, pouring herself a whiskey from a carafe she kept on the side table.

She moved back into the bathroom and dried herself off, wiping the condensation from the mirror with a corner of her towel and turning to look at her tattoo. The redness and swelling had faded, leaving just the moth in all its glory. Tonight was the first time it would see the world.

She turned back to face the mirror and unclipped her hair, which she had pinned up to keep it dry while she showered. It fell in silky waves to her breasts, just covering her nipples. She stared hard at her reflection for a moment, turning her head towards her room when she noticed the lyrics of the song that was playing.

 _In the land of gods and monsters,_

 _I was an angel, lookin' to get fucked hard._

 _Like a groupie incognito posing as a real singer,_

 _Life imitates art._

 _You got that medicine I need_

 _Dope, shoot it up straight to the heart, please_

 _I don't really wanna know what's good for me_

 _God's dead, I said 'baby, that's alright with me'._

 _No one's gonna take my soul away_

 _Living like Jim Morrison_

 _Headed towards a fucked up holiday_

 _Motel, sprees, sprees, and I'm singin'_

 _Fuck yeah, give it to me, this is heaven, what I truly want_

 _It's innocence lost._

 _Innocence lost._

She smiled a small smile before looking away from her reflection, moving out of the bathroom and toward her bed, where she had laid out everything she needed.

She reached for the set of black lace underwear and put them on, followed by the matching bra. Then, she turned to her bedside table and picked up the knife holster that she had used for scuba diving in the past. She slid her left leg through the straps until they were resting as high as they could go on her upper thigh, then reached into the drawer and pulled out the Joker's card. She ran her thumb over it, then slid it in between the holster and her thigh before tightening the straps. She reached for her knife and slid it into the holster.

She turned back to her bed and picked up the black silk slip, one of the twenty-five that she had asked Claudia to order for her. She pulled it on over her head. The hem only just covered the tip of the knife on her thigh.

She pulled on black knee-high socks next, followed by her fitted black high-heeled boots made of soft, buttery leather, which reached to only an inch or two short of the hem of the dress.

She moved back into the bathroom to do her makeup. She used the same elongating mascara that she'd used the night of Bruce's party, accompanying it with deep red lipstick. She reached for her mask, fastening it on over her head. She pulled the front strands of her hair out of the mask's elastic strap, pulling them loosely back to pin behind her head, covering the elastic. The mask covered the entire top half of her face, reaching from her hairline all the way down to the tip of her nose.

Finally, she moved back to her bedside table and slipped her brass knuckles on.

From her keychain, she detached the electronic key fob she used in the elevator to get into her apartment and slipped it into her bra. Then she stepped in front of the full-length mirror in her bedroom to examine herself.

She turned slowly. The loose, low back of the dress- the same style she had been wearing the night of her attack- showed off her tattoos. The mask made her eyes stand out, and she felt like a femme fatale from some action movie with her red lips, glossy hair curling down her chest, and her lace bra peeking out underneath the loose, revealing dress. The thigh-high boots helped that image as well.

She slid the hem of her dress up a little to touch her knife holster, where she could feel the Joker's card burning into her thigh. She almost wished she could see him again. It didn't seem right that he had inadvertently given her so much, but she couldn't even remember meeting him.

She tossed back the remaining whiskey in her glass, and gave her silky armor a final once-over, her eyes lingering on her moth tattoo.

 _I'm ready,_ she thought.

* * *

She walked at a leisurely pace through alley after alley, slowly weaving her way towards the club. She'd left her car at home tonight, not wanting any indication of who she was in the vicinity of her night's work in case things went awry.

 _It's a good thing I'm so used to walking in heels that I don't feel any pain anymore,_ she thought.

She touched her hand to her holster again, thinking of the Joker. She felt guilty about the strange space he occupied in her life, to the point where she'd strapped a part of him to her thigh to give her extra strength. She knew it was wrong to feel that way, given the atrocities he had committed, the number of people that had died at his hands.

She felt guilty, but at the same time… she felt an undiminishing desire to see him, to speak to him… to _thank_ him. She secretly hoped that if she wandered around in the dark enough, she would eventually come across him. But she knew that was foolish. She didn't know much about him, but she was pretty sure he didn't just hang around the alleys of Gotham all night.

Instead of waiting at the club for the bartender, like she had the last two nights, she continued on the route he took to get home. She stopped in the dark alleyway she had picked out the night before and examined her surroundings. She would have to take him by surprise this time. She didn't have the advantage of him actually knowing her, like she'd had with Liam.

She spotted a fire escape a little ways into the alley, its ladder hanging down low enough for her to jump up and grab it, which she did. She climbed up to the lowest level of the escape and sat with her legs dangling over the edge.

She hadn't brought her phone or a watch with her, but she guessed that it was almost two A.M. _I'll need to figure out some way to keep track of time while doing this in the future,_ she thought. She rested her cheek against one of the metal railings, going over the finer details of her plan as she waited. Her blood almost felt like it was bubbling in anticipation, and she felt warm from the embers of the dragon inside her, which was just waking up.

The alley remained deserted for what seemed like hours. She was beginning to think he had gone somewhere else after work, or simply hadn't gone to work at all, when she heard footfalls. She pulled her legs up underneath her and crouched down, following the sound with her eyes.

Chris the bartender was shuffling down the alleyway, looking a bit discombobulated and drunk. He had a cigarette in between his fingers, which gave her an idea. She waited for him to pass by her before she silently swung down from her perch on the fire escape, dropping the last few feet to the ground with a light thud of her high heels. He turned.

"Hi," she said, raising a hand and waggling her fingers at him in greeting.

"Who the fuck're you?" he slurred.

She sidled up to him gracefully. "D'you have a cigarette I could bum?" she asked sweetly. Without answering, he pulled a pack from his pocket and clumsily withdrew one, hesitantly holding it out towards her with a suspicious look on his face.

"Why you got a mask on?"

Ignoring his question, she slipped the cigarette between her teeth, looking him in the eye. "Got a light?"

He handed it to her and she cupped her hand around the end of her cigarette as she lit it, before handing the lighter back to him. She took a deep drag and let the smoke blow out into his face in a long stream, inclining her head to look at him. She folded one arm across her stomach and rested the elbow of her other arm against it, holding the cigarette up lazily next to her face.

"To answer your question, I'm a masked vigilante who punishes depraved people."

He laughed, thinking she was joking.

"You know, child molesters, wife beaters, rapists," she took another drag from her cigarette, her gaze hardening into a glare as she haltingly spoke her next words, "people who drug women…"

His grin died on his face as she stared at him through narrowed eyes. He gaped at her a moment, seemingly processing what she was saying and trying to gauge if she was actually threatening him.

Then he took a clumsy step backwards and turned to run, but not before she slipped her little knife out of its holster at her thigh and plunged the blade into the muscle of his shoulder, simultaneously clamping her other hand over his mouth from behind to muffle his scream.

She pulled him back against her chest, keeping her fist wrapped around the handle of her knife. His legs buckled and she lowered to the ground with him, squatting against his back with one knee on either side of his arms. Her mouth rested right next to his ear.

He struggled feebly against her, but she easily kept him where he was. One thing she had learned from her session with Liam was that pain made a person easy to subdue, even if they had the advantage in their size.

Blood was seeping slowly out of the wound on his shoulder. She thought about how it would gush when she pulled her knife out.

"I know what you've been doing, _Chris the bartender_ ," she said softly in his ear. She felt the delicious fire within her roaring fully to the surface. "I could kill you tonight. I _should_ kill you. It's what you deserve. But I'm going to let you live." He struggled against her hand over his mouth and she tightened her fist around the knife, eliciting another muffled scream. "I'm going to let you live so that I can watch you. I'm gonna be checking up on you, little bartender. You're going to get rid of all of your little stash. And if you ever drug another girl again, if you ever _hurt_ another girl again," she added pressure on the knife, pausing to let her next words get their full effect, "I'll slit your fucking throat."

She pulled him even closer, her lips right against the shell of his hear. "I'm a woman of my word," she whispered.

Then she tightened her grip on the knife and jerked it down his arm, creating a deep, ragged gash, before yanking it out as she moved out from behind him and let him fall onto his back. She patiently kept her other hand clamped over his mouth as he screamed, wiping her knife off on his shirt and slipping it back into its holster. "Shut the fuck up, or I'll move that last part of our plan up to now," she said evenly. His scream died in his throat as he looked up at her, his eyes wide with terror. "Oh, and another thing. If you call the police, you'll be dead before they can even lift a finger to help you." She smiled sweetly, stared into his eyes a moment longer, then removed her hand from his mouth and stood. She could hear him whimpering as she walked away.

She wove through the alleys back in the direction of home, dragging the fingertips of one hand against the brick as she went. She felt high on power. She grinned as she thought about how terrified he had looked, and she was sure he would never drug any girl ever again.

She had been walking for about half an hour when she heard the sound of a car moving up the alleyway slowly behind her. She didn't turn around, not wanting to show that she was wearing a mask, but soon the vehicle was inching along right beside her. She could see in her peripheral vision that it was a big car, an SUV. She kept her eyes fixed straight ahead, hoping that if she ignored whoever it was, they would drive on. She heard a window roll down.

"You'd think you would've learned your _lesson_ about being alone in alleyways late at night," a rough, slightly nasally voice drawled. She froze. She knew that voice. It resonated deep in her bones.

She heard a car door open and then slam shut, and turned around slowly to see the Joker standing before her, his hands in the pants pockets of his purple three-piece suit. He was taller than she had imagined him, with broad shoulders that tapered down into what she could see was a lean, sinewy frame, even through the fabric of his suit. His jaw-length green hair was swept to one side, and his makeup looked freshly done, devoid of a single smudge or faded spot.

The sight of him, his power and grotesque beauty, took her breath away.

She stared at him with wide eyes for what seemed like an eternity, watching an amused smirk grow on his face. When she finally found her voice, she barely recognized the croaky whisper it had become.

"It's you."

His smirk grew. He took a step toward her, she took a step back. But her eyes never left his. They couldn't.

He took another step toward her, she took another step back. He smiled cruelly, and she felt a chord of fear ring through her.

"Are you going to kill me?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper.

He laughed a maniacal laugh that ranged from cackle to giggle, throwing his head back. She took another step back and felt brick against her bare shoulder blades.

"Oh, you're funny. Not yet, little bird. I've taken an _interest_ in you." Again, he stepped toward her. He was only a foot away from her now, and her breath hitched in her throat. He smiled cruelly. The pull she felt towards him was beginning to be eclipsed by her fear, and she felt a fight-or-flight reflex well up in her chest. She still hadn't been able to pull her gaze away from his, but the intensity of the darkness in his eyes was beginning to overwhelm her.

She instinctively made a move to sidestep away from him, and she felt the familiar sensation of his leather-gloved hand wrapping roughly around her upper arm. Before she could blink, the front of her body was slammed against the brick wall. Her cheek was pressed tightly against the cool, rough surface. She felt the warmth of the Joker's suited body against her back, his hand twisting her arm back behind her. She pushed lightly against the wall with her other hand. His breath tickled her ear when he spoke.

"Atatatata," he scolded. "I wasn't finished yet, little bird. It's rude to walk away in the middle of a conversation."

She was hyper aware of the firmness of his body, even through his clothing, as it pressed her into the wall. She felt a flush crawl up her cheeks as heat began to pool in her belly, mixing with the sharp ripples of fear. Her breathing came out in soft gasps, and her heart hammered against her ribs. His voice was a low growl when he spoke again, but it retained his characteristically playful tone.

"Ya know, I thought for sure you'd let my little gift _slip_ "- she felt soft leather of his other gloved hand on her thigh- "through your fingers. You were acting _so_ pathetic for a while. But you didn't disappoint, did you?" Her body tightened at his words. He released the arm he had twisted behind her back, and she pressed her newly freed hand against the wall. Her brass knuckles made a scraping noise against the brick. " _Quite_ the performance the other day. So _rousing_. The scream at the end was par _tic_ ularly stirring." He paused for a beat to let her react.

"You were watching?" she half-whispered.

"Tonight's was pretty good too, although a bit less, ah, _chaotic_ in my humble opinion."

She drew in a sharp breath as his hand began to slide up her thigh, burning heat spiking through her.

Before she knew what she was doing, she had reached a hand down to wrap around his wrist, drawing his hand upward and away from her body. He stopped speaking. With her other hand, she slowly pulled his leather glove off. Then, with slightly trembling fingers, she lowered his hand back down to where it had been on her upper thigh. Her breath hitched at the skin-to-skin contact.

She just barely felt him stiffen behind her. His hand was dry and surprisingly warm as it slid up her thigh a little further, eliciting another small gasp from her, before he let it drop.

"Tsk tsk, naughty girl," he drawled as he plucked his glove from her hand. Then she felt the warmth of his body leave her back and heard the car door open again. She turned in time to see it close, and then the black Escalade was moving away down the alley. She found her voice.

"Wait! Joker!" she called after it. She thought he would ignore her, but then the Escalade slowed to a stop. She waited for his door to open, but it didn't.

She jogged the length of the alley, stopping next to his window as he rolled it down.

"I forgot to say thank you," she said breathlessly.

He let out a bark of laughter. "Oh, don't thank me _yet_. We've only just met... _Salomé._ " Her jaw dropped in shock as he said her name.

And with that, his window rolled up and the Escalade slid down the rest of the alley, turning a corner and vanishing from sight.

* * *

Hehe. :) Gonna try my darndest to get the next chapter up before the weekend is out, but bear with me if it doesn't happen. Lots going on with Christmas so it might end up being Monday.

xo,

nightmoth


	8. Larry Perkins

I'm so sorry that I'm posting this later than I said I would! I made it extra long to compensate.

Lots of good stuff packed into this chapter- we get both the Joker and a little bit of the Batman, and also Salomé's next victim. Some little lemons, too. :)

Enjoy!

 _Disclaimer: I own nothing but my OCs. The Joker and the Batman are property of DC Comics._

* * *

 **Chapter 8**

Salomé couldn't stop thinking about the Joker.

Their encounter in the alley had happened a week ago, and she had thought about him pretty much nonstop since then. She thought about the darkness in his eyes, and the deep chord of fear it had struck in her. She thought about the warmth and hardness of his body pressing through his suit against her back. She thought about the fact that he'd been watching her... that she "interested" him enough that he even _would_ watch her. She thought about his hand on her thigh, and about her name on his lips.

But most of all, she thought about how badly she wanted to feel those feelings and hear those sounds again.

She had been busy in the last week. The day after she'd seen the Joker, she had called her father at his office and asked for all the files they had on people who had been let off after being charged with rape, domestic violence, or child abuse. He had been puzzled about why she would be asking for such things, but she told him it was for a personal project, and that she was trying to educate herself about crime in Gotham. She felt a bit guilty for lying to him, but then she reminded herself that those people were still out there, more than likely performing depraved acts, and she could step in and succeed where the Gotham justice system had failed.

That afternoon, she had picked up two large boxes full of files that one of the courthouse interns had assembled for her. She had grabbed the one at the top of the pile and brought it to the office with her, studying it for hours. It was the file of a man named Larry Perkins, a middle-aged alcoholic with several domestic violence calls on his record. His file had all of his information, including his address and a photo. He was a chubby, ruddy-faced man with thinning gray hair and cruel, beady eyes. He was also huge, standing at six foot four, according to his mug shot.

She had been staking out his apartment throughout the week, watching his interactions with a woman she had assumed was his wife. She hadn't witnessed him hitting her, but she had witnessed plenty of verbal and emotional abuse. When he wasn't yelling at her or barking orders, he seemed to ignore her entire existence.

She was on her fourth visit to his apartment when she saw the Joker again.

She crouched down in the spot she had occupied all week, on a little fire escape right next to the window that looked in on their cramped living room and kitchen. They lived on the top floor of their seedy apartment complex, and their fire escape had a set of stairs that led to the roof.

She had been in the same spot, watching, for three and a half hours. Perkins' wife had been alone in the apartment the entire time. She sighed. _How long do I keep this up without seeing anything before I call it quits and move on to the next asshole?_ she wondered. She stood and stretched her legs. The summer air was balmy, and she climbed up the stairs to the roof. She could enjoy the admittedly not-that-great view from up here, and if Perkins came home and became violent she was sure she would be able to hear it.

She sat on the edge of the roof with her legs dangling over. She looked out at the smoggy, light-polluted sky, listening to the sounds of traffic and drunk people milling about on the streets and sidewalks below her. She thought back to the time in her life, before her attack, when she was one of those people- out on a Saturday night with Martha and Chloe, enjoying being a carefree twenty-three year old with all doors open to her. She loved her newfound strength and it felt so good to let the demons inside her run free, but she felt sad as she thought about her old life. Things had been less complicated then. She'd had a moral code and some innocence left. Now, she wasn't even sure if she was a good person. She felt completely cut off from the parts of her life that weren't the one she was occupying right in this moment, with her mask on.

She sat there for over an hour, lost in these thoughts, before deciding that she would look in on the Perkins' apartment one last time before calling it a night. She was sure it was approaching four in the morning. She swung her legs over the wall, turning, and was about to drop down onto her feet when she froze in place, sitting on the wall facing away from the edge. Her heart lurched in her chest.

It was the Joker. He was standing in the middle of the roof, his feet a little over a foot apart from each other, watching her. His gloved hands hung down by his sides, and it looked like he was holding something in the right one.

He wasn't wearing the jacket of his purple suit tonight due to the warm weather, and she saw that his body- clad in his purple suit-pants, a patterned blue button-down with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and a green waistcoat- was as trim and sinewy as she had imagined. His red mouth twisted into its characteristic smirk when their eyes met.

"How long have you been there?" Salomé asked in a shaky voice.

"Things aren't going according to plan with your new _friend_ , are they?" he responded, ignoring her question as he began to approach her. She wanted to move off of the ledge onto her feet, but her body was frozen. She gripped the edge of the wall with her hands as he got closer and told herself to keep her cool. She took what she hoped was a subtle deep breath and kept her voice even when she replied.

"It's great that I haven't seen him hitting her," she said, somehow instinctively knowing that he was aware of why she was watching Perkins. "It's not like I _want_ to witness him torturing his wife and then have to beat him to a pulp for it."

"Yes, you do." He said it matter-of-factly, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

"Excuse me?" she said, in a cooler tone than she meant to as her pride flared up inside her.

"You think I don't know what goes on in that pretty little head? I know what you're about. You hide behind your so-called _moral code_ so that you can live with yourself during the daytime when you go back to being Gotham's little golden girl." She stared at him, her eyes wide. He was getting close now, only about a foot away from her. "But what you are now? What you were that night when you almost _killed_ that little urchin that attacked you? _That's_ the real Salomé. You may be able to fool all of the other little _sheep_ in Gotham into thinking you're a good girl, but I see you. You've got a monster inside, little bird, and _like_ recognizes _like,"_ he continued, his voice a drawling growl.

"No, you're wrong," she said feebly, realizing as the words left her mouth that she didn't mean them. "I do this to _help_ people-"

He stepped even closer so that he was practically standing between her legs. She felt a pang of shame when she instinctively inched her legs open further for him. His face was mere inches from hers, and she could smell the grease paint that covered it, along with something else- sage, maybe.

She noticed that he had a smooth, strong neck, as well as taut, toned forearms, and realized he must not be that much older than she was. It was hard to tell his age with his heavy makeup and the scars on his face. An image popped into her mind of her kissing that neck, her tongue sliding up the length of it. Her face grew hot at the thought and she pushed it away. He continued speaking as though he hadn't heard her.

"And when you're in the moment, pounding those brass knuckles into some poor hack's face, or plunging your little knife into someone's flesh, you finally admit to yourself the _truth_ that you're pushing down right now," he closed the final distance between them, and she started, leaning back instinctively as she felt something cold sliding up her inner thigh. She realized with a twist of fear that it was the barrel of his gun. He snaked an arm under hers and around her back to keep her in place and pressed his gloved hand in between her shoulder blades. She felt the length of his bare forearm against her ribcage. "You admit to yourself that you _like_ it. You like the carnage and the control, and you like playing God with another person's life. And _that_ ' _s_ why you do it, _isn't it,_ little bird?"

He slid the barrel of his gun higher, and she gasped involuntarily. Heat was blooming from somewhere behind her navel and spreading all over her body. She closed her eyes and tipped her head back, trying to keep the answer to his question from escaping her mouth. Trying to keep some semblance of control over the situation. But she couldn't. It was like she wasn't her own master when he was around. She turned into his marionette and willingly allowed him to pull on her strings.

"Yes," she breathed.

He made a noise of approval deep in his throat and inched his gun a little further up her thigh. It was almost touching her center. Her legs widened more, moving of their own accord. The feeling of the cold metal combined with the warmth of his hand through his glove was making her whole body feel overstimulated, and she felt her panties growing wet. Her mouth fell open as she stifled a moan. His face was only inches from hers, and she was looking dazedly into his eyes, which appeared almost like glowing black coals in the midst of his dark circles of makeup. She bucked her hips towards the tip of his gun, aching to feel friction where she needed it most. But he pulled his hand back just enough that she couldn't get what she was seeking.

"Tell me why you do this," he said in an almost scolding tone, the way a parent might ask their small child why they spilled their juice or stole their sibling's favorite toy. She was barely able to process his words.

"What?"

" _Focus_ , Salomé. I said, tell me why you do this."

Her panties were soaked now, and she was desperate for contact. She bucked her hips more aggressively towards the tip of his gun again, using her hands against the edge of the wall as leverage, and again, he pulled it just out of reach. A small sound of frustration escaped her throat.

"I- I like it," she breathed, her voice full of need. "I like the power." She bucked forward again, unsuccessfully. His mouth was an inch away from hers. She was practically moaning her words into it. "I like stalking them like prey, and the look on their faces when they realize I've got them." The Joker made another sound deep in his throat, this one tinged with something else. She thought it might be lust, but she wasn't sure. "And I like knowing that their worthless lives will never be the same because of me."

"Good girl," he said sardonically.

He slid the gun the final inches up her thigh and used the tip to push her flimsy lace panties to the side. He ran the tip of the gun slowly around her little bundle of nerves, and she released a keening moan, her hips jerking at the contact. Then, he slid the gun down through her folds and over her opening. And then it was moving away, back down her thigh, as his other hand slid up her spine to cup the back of her neck, his fist closing around her hair. She let her head fall limply back against his firm hand, groaning in frustration and keeping her heavily lidded eyes on his.

He slowly raised the gun, whose tip was now covered in her wetness, to her mouth. She couldn't take her eyes off his as she slid her tongue out and ran it slowly over the tip of the barrel, tasting herself. He slid the tip over her bottom lip, pulling it down and then letting it bounce back into place as he brought the gun back down to his side. They held each other's gaze for a moment longer, Salomé panting softly, before he chuckled and released her hair, stepping back from her and turning to walk away without another word.

She remained there after he left, trying to process what had just happened. She felt the ache of an unreleased orgasm pulsing at her center, and fought the almost overwhelming urge to finish what the Joker had started. She sat and breathed deeply, trying hard to regain control over her emotions and stifle her arousal, but she kept feeling his gun, and his hand tangled in her hair, and then she thought about the lingering taste of her wetness on her tongue. She began to reach her hands between her legs, but then stopped herself, sighing. _What the fuck am I doing?_ _This is insane,_ she thought.

She slid off of the wall and dropped to her feet, ignoring the uncomfortable wetness between her thighs and heading towards the fire escape. The sun would be up soon. She peered into the Perkins' window as she reached the bottom of the stairs. The only source of light came from a nightlight in the kitchen, but all seemed quiet. She continued down the stairs till she reached the bottom and set off in the direction of home. Her head became clearer as she walked and her arousal began to fade, allowing her to think about what the Joker had said.

He had read her like an open book, telling her things about her feelings that even she hadn't realized. But some of his words bothered her. Did she really only do this because she liked violence? No, that couldn't be right. If it was purely for that, she wouldn't only punish evil men, would she? She would punish anyone, like the Joker did. Maybe the Joker was right about her loving the violence in what she did, but she knew she had good in her. She knew she chose the men she chose because she wanted to protect the vulnerable. But did that really matter if the bottom line was that she _liked_ hurting people?

She told herself it did. It _had_ to.

Her thoughts turned to the reason she had even come here in the first place: Larry Perkins. She would watch him for one more night before moving on to the next one.

She tried to focus on Perkins for the rest of her journey home, but her thoughts kept returning to the Joker, and the way he was able to pull her into him like a magnet. She thought about his card, which she still kept strapped to her thigh, and how often she had thought of him over the past week, how badly she had wanted to see him again. She thought about the darkness in his eyes and his smooth neck, and how much strength he had given her, and how he had ripped her open and solved her like an easy math problem.

And then it hit her like a ton of bricks.

She was starting to fall for him.

* * *

She walked briskly on her usual dark-alley-route to Perkins' apartment.

It was a long walk from her place in the Diamond District to the shabby complex, and she was about halfway through. All day she had thrown herself fully into the designs for the next collection, which, incidentally, was turning into something much darker and more courageous than anything she had designed before. She had illustrated through the entire workday without looking up once, determined to keep the Joker out of her mind.

But now, as she walked, he invaded her thoughts. She wondered when she would see him again, and if he felt anything for her other than amusement and mild entertainment. She knew she was probably nothing to him. He was the _Joker_ , after all. The entire reason all of Gotham was terrified of him was because he was supposed to be a complete sociopath with no empathy or kindness. And yet, he had saved her… He had followed her, and watched her. He had never hurt her.

That had to count for something.

She finally reached the fire escape and climbed up to the Perkins' window, taking her usual spot at the base of the roof stairs. It looked like his wife was there alone again. She stood at the kitchen sink, washing dishes. Salomé had been watching her for no more than fifteen minutes when an unfamiliar hoarse, gravelly voice spoke from behind her.

"What's a pretty young girl like you doing staking out the apartment of a miserable middle-aged alcoholic?"

She whipped around and lost her breath as she took in the mask, cape, and pointed ears on the top of his head.

It was the Batman.

He stood at the top of the steps, looking down at her. He looked majestic and larger than life, dressed in his usual black outfit. She had a fleeting thought of how good they would look next to each other, both all in black with masks covering half of their faces.

"Making sure he doesn't beat his wife," she said smoothly, not wanting to betray her awe at seeing him in person. She stood and moved up the staircase, one step at a time, until she was on the step just below him.

She was struck by how huge he was. Where the Joker was sinewy, the Batman was a model of peak physical perfection, his muscles visible through his suit. He had a broad chest, and his mouth and jaw were handsome and heroic-looking. His voice still managed to be wholesome and not unkind, even through its harsh, gravelly lilt. He radiated darkness and danger, but it was mixed in with protection and goodness, and she felt almost as though she were in the presence of a god as she stood before him. She couldn't take her eyes off him, and couldn't shake the feeling that as long as she was near him, nothing bad could happen to her. It was a completely different kind of attraction than what she felt for the Joker.

"And if he does?" he regarded her steadily.

"I'll deal with him," she said. She met his eyes, knowing he was sizing her up. She _wanted_ him to size her up, she realized.

"The same way you dealt with the bartender from Le Disco?"

She missed a beat in her surprise.

"I'll deal with him in whatever way I have to."

"Why?"

His directness unnerved her. She was too used to the Joker's twisting words and double meanings.

"Why what?"

"Why this guy, and why the bartender?"

"This guy is a piece of shit who has routinely abused his wife for years and keeps getting away with it. The bartender drugged women so that his friend could rape them at the club, and I gave him better than he deserved."

"Just him, or him and his friend?"

"Does it matter?"

"So, you're a protector of women?"

"I'm a protector of anyone who's being victimized by depraved people."

"Depraved people?"

"Pedophiles. Rapists. Wife beaters. Child abusers."

"Murderers?"

"No." She smiled up at him. "I leave those to you, Mr. Bat. I care about the human soul, not the human body."

The Batman didn't answer for a moment, choosing instead to regard her silently.

"Do you work for the Joker?"

"No."

"Then how do you know him?"

"We run into each other sometimes."

A small smirk formed on his beautiful lips at that. "You aren't very forthcoming on that subject."

She flashed him a smirk of her own. "I guess I wasn't planning on being interrogated in the middle of the night."

The Batman chuckled.

"In that case, I'll leave you to it." She smiled and began to descend the stairs back to her post, but then she heard his voice again. "But first, I have one more question." She turned and looked up at him, waiting for him to continue. "Who are you?"

She blinked at him, realizing that she barely knew the answer to that question anymore. But she answered nonetheless.

"I'm the Nightmoth," she said, looking him in the eye a moment longer before turning her back and reclaiming her spot near the window.

She thought he was still standing there, watching her, but when she turned to look over her shoulder, he was gone.

* * *

She sighed. It had been an hour since the Batman had left, and there was no sign of Perkins. She looked through the window. His wife was sitting on the couch, reading a magazine. She got up and moved into the kitchen, pulling a kettle out of a cupboard to make some tea. Salomé was about to call it quits yet again when the door to the apartment, which was directly across from the window, opened. Salomé quickly jerked out of sight and peeked through the window from the side. Larry was ruddy-faced and swaying back and forth on his feet, his eyes bloodshot. _Drunk_ , she thought.

She watched as he approached his wife in the kitchen and laid a clumsy hand on her shoulder. He slid his hand down to his wife's behind and tried to pull her in for a heated kiss. His wife braced her hands against is chest and pulled away.

"Stop it, you're drunk," Salomé heard her muffled voice say. She heard him say something back heatedly, and soon they were arguing, though Salomé couldn't make out their words.

Then she heard the unmistakable sound of flesh hitting flesh, and peeked into the window in time to see his wife hit the ground. She stood frozen in shock for a second as he kicked her in the stomach several times in quick succession, his face turning purple with rage and spittle flying from his mouth as he cursed at her. She realized that this was the first time she was rescuing someone from an attack that was actually happening in front of her.

Then Salomé sprang into action. She used the heel of her boot to kick the windowpane as hard as she could. It only cracked on her first try. She struck it again in the same spot. More cracks. Finally, the third time she kicked it, it shattered. She didn't have time to clear away the jagged edges that were stuck in the window frame, and tried to avoid them as she climbed through. Still, she felt a searing pain on her outer thigh, and glanced down to see blood dripping down into her boot.

Larry had been facing diagonally away from her and turned as he heard the sound of the window breaking. She leapt forward and swung her brass-knuckled right fist at his face, making firm contact with his jaw and stunning him for a moment. The purple rage returned to his face, however, and he swung at her, his fist connecting with her right cheekbone so hard that she fell to the floor and saw stars. She popped back up on her feet, though, moving quickly behind him and jumping up to wrap her arms around his throat. She held on as tight as she could, her feet dangling as he sputtered and coughed, struggling to breathe.

 _Please, please, please just pass out…_ she chanted to herself. He stumbled quickly backwards and slammed her into a wall, knocking the wind out of her. She lost her grip on his neck and only barely managed to land on her feet, thanks to the support of the wall.

He swung at her and she ducked, his fist making contact with the drywall behind her and punching a hole in it. But the second she came back up, he swung at her again, and this time he punched her full in the mouth. She felt blood explode onto her tongue and a sharp pain in the back of her head as it snapped back and hit the wall from the impact of Larry's fist. Between that and his first punch to her cheekbone, she was feeling dazed and couldn't react or move in time before he clamped a huge hand around her throat and squeezed.

"Fuckin' bitch," he growled.

She clawed at his fist, white spots beginning to float before her eyes as she tried to gasp for air. Her vision was beginning to tunnel when she somehow found one last surge of fight. She used it to reach down, pull her knife out of its holster at her thigh, and slash it, blindly and with all her might, across Larry Perkins' throat.

There was a sickening pause, which must've lasted only half a second, where she thought she might have missed and her life was over, before the sheet of red came spilling out of his neck and he staggered backwards. Salomé fell to her knees, gasping loudly, sucking in huge, painful breaths of air as her vision began to widen back to normal. Larry was lying in front of her, a pool of blood beginning to form around his head as he gurgled and sputtered. The sounds made Salomé shudder in disgust.

She was still hyperventilating as she scooted herself towards his wife, checking her pulse. It felt strong and normal, and she would probably be awake soon. Salomé grabbed on to the kitchen counter and pulled herself up. She stumbled towards their bedroom, where she assumed the bathroom was. She ran the water and looked at her reflection. Her hair was mussed up, some front strands having fallen out of their pins on the back of her head to frame her face. There was a thick, steady stream of blood from the corner of her mouth down her chin. Lifting up her mask, she saw that a bruise was already beginning to form on her cheekbone. She passed her fingers under the water and rubbed the blood off her chin. She could taste blood inside her mouth from the cuts she knew she had there. But she didn't have time to worry about that now.

She scribbled a note on a scrap of paper she found on the dining room table.

 _If you loved him, I'm sorry._

 _You're free now._

 _-Nightmoth_

Then she shuffled away from the table and clambered gracelessly back out of the window, cutting her leg again as she went. She stumbled down the stairs and leaned back against the brick of the alley, collecting herself.

She had just killed someone.

She would have expected to feel guilt. But so far all she felt was adrenaline, bottled up destructive energy, and confusion. They warred inside her head and body. She set off slowly down the alleyway on shaky legs, desperately wanting to escape her brain for a while. She thought about how loudly she would scream in the shower when she got home.

* * *

The Escalade slid slowly down the alley. The Joker had known that she would be staking out the wife beater's apartment again. The little bird- _his_ little bird, for he had practically created her- wasn't one to give up without exacting her pound of flesh. He knew that, even if she didn't, and he wanted to seek her out to play with her a little more. She was just so _entertaining._

When they had arrived at the apartment building and the Joker had ascended the fire escape stairs only to find a smashed window and the wife beater on the floor with his throat slit, the Joker couldn't help the bubble of pride that had swelled in his chest at the sight. He was sure she was in one of the nearby alleys, judging by the freshness of the blood still seeping out of the wife beater's neck. She would be delirious with adrenaline after her first kill. He _had_ to see this.

That was where he and his goons found themselves as they crept down the alley directly behind the apartment building, turning into the next one as they reached the end.

She was standing still facing away from them, leaning sideways on her shoulder against the brick wall and resting the side of her head against it. When they pulled up next to her, he could see that her eyes were closed. She turned her head slightly to look at them from the corner of her eye, and then pushed herself off the wall. The Joker cocked an eyebrow when she opened the front passenger door and addressed his two lackeys.

"Can you guys get out for a second, please?" she asked, as though she fully expected them to obey any command she issued without question. He chuckled gleefully from the back seat at her gall. His goons glanced at each other, but didn't move or speak. "You can stand right outside, but I need to talk to him alone," she continued. His goons looked back at him.

"You heard her," he said, jerking his head towards the outside with an amused smirk. They glanced at each other uncertainly again before sliding out of their respective doors and closing them. _Little bird is_ full _of surprises tonight,_ he thought.

The surprises kept coming when the back door opened and she climbed in, slamming it shut behind her. He raised an eyebrow and watched her, the amused smirk remaining on his face.

His eyebrows raised even higher when, without missing a beat, she slid over to him and climbed onto his lap, straddling him. The hem of her dress slid up as she did so, revealing the slender expanse of thigh between the top of her boots and her hipbones. She slipped the fingers of one hand under the bottom of her mask and pulled it off over her head, revealing her admittedly beautiful face. He hadn't seen the entirety of that face since the night she had nearly beaten the rapist to death. She didn't take her eyes off his.

He took in the large purple bruise on her cheekbone, her swollen and bloodied bottom lip, the red marks on her neck, and the blood running down her outer thigh. _That wife beater sure did a number on you,_ he thought dryly. He looked at her messy hair, the loose strands falling around her face. Her eyes looked strange and wild, as though she wasn't completely in her own body.

Without speaking, she wrapped her brass knuckle-clad hand around his left wrist and slowly brought it to her lips. Her other hand rested lightly on the right side of his chest. She bit down on the tip of the middle finger of his glove, bending her head, and then slowly drew her head back to slide it off his hand. He ran his eyes down the column of her neck. He didn't speak, curious to see what she would do next.

Then she turned his hand so his palm was facing up, and guided it down between her legs.

He refrained from looking down, choosing instead to hold her gaze, and felt the damp warmth of her through her lace panties. He secretly relished in the feeling before pulling his hand back.

"Atatata," he said, softly. But she tightened her grip on his wrist, holding his hand there and grinding lightly against his fingers.

Irritation flared inside him at her insubordination. "Salomé," he warned in a dangerous, growling tone. But then she wrapped her other hand around his lapel in a fist, and her voice was desperate and imploring when she spoke for the first time since she had gotten in the car.

"Please."

He cocked an eyebrow at her and paused for a long moment before moving his fingers lightly over the lace covering her center. He tried to stamp down the desire that was pushing up through him. The Joker wasn't a man who gave into sexual whims. He hated weakness, and women were a weakness. But he couldn't remember the last time he had actually _wanted_ to touch someone the way he was touching the little bird right now. He couldn't remember the last time he had actually _listened_ when someone had pleaded for him to do something. She clearly felt that this was what she needed. Normally, that wouldn't sway him one way or the other, but then again… nothing with the little bird was normal.

She removed her other hand from his lapel and lowered it to her underwear, pulling it to the side and pressing his fingers slowly against her hot, wet flesh. She bit her bottom lip and groaned softly at the contact, raising one hand back to his chest and keeping the other wrapped around his wrist. She seemed to be waiting for him to acquiesce before letting go. She ground softly against his fingers again, in another silent plea.

He really should kick her out of his car and leave her desperate and wanting. He should love the cruelty of that prospect. But for some reason, he didn't want to lose the feeling of her warm wetness against his hand. For some reason, he liked that his little bird, his little monster, needed him this way. He had never seen her like this before. She was on the edge of something.

And he wanted to be the one to squeeze that last inch of chaos out of her. He had to be.

He sighed, resigned, and slid two fingers inside her. She felt silky and tight.

She drew in a sharp breath of air and slid her fingers off of his wrist, moving her hand up to the other side of his chest. Both of her hands were fisted around his lapels now. He slid his fingers out, then slowly back in. She moaned and let her head fall back, spreading her knees wider on either side of him and lowering herself more fully onto his hand. He began to move his fingers in and out of her in a slow, steady rhythm. His eyes moved from her chin down her exposed neck, and settled on her chest for a moment, watching it rise and fall with increasing speed as she panted softly. One of the straps of her dress slid off of her shoulder, revealing a breast covered in black lace just see-through enough for him to make out a puckered nipple.

She was growing frustrated with his slow ministrations and began to buck against his fingers, crying out softly at the extra sensation. Her hips seemed to move of their own accord, jerking wildly against him, and he found himself sliding his gloved free hand up her thigh and under her dress to wrap around one of her hipbones, forcing her into his rhythm. She groaned in frustration and pleasure.

One of her hands released his lapel and began to slide up his chest towards his hair. He released her hip and grabbed it harshly before it could touch his head, lowering it back down to his chest.

With his hand absent from her hip, she bucked harder and faster against him. He grasped her hip again, but she was spinning out of control now. He could feel her beginning to tighten around his fingers. He growled at the spike of arousal that her tightness sent through him. He could feel how badly she wanted to come. He slid a third finger inside her and she keened, her eyes falling closed at the stretching pleasure.

 _"Look at me,"_ he growled. Her eyes snapped open and fixed on his. They were almost unrecognizable with lust. Her hips were grinding even harder against his fingers now, and his entire palm was slick with her wetness. Her eyes moved down to his lips, and she slowly drew closer. He reached up with his free hand and fisted it into the back of her hair when her lips were almost touching his, holding her at bay. Her eyes were on his again.

And then she reached out her warm, wet tongue and slid it along the length of his lower lip.

He yanked her head roughly all the way back by her hair, and she released a long, hoarse moan as she shattered. She clenched and pulsed around his fingers, her body arching, her breasts pressing against the fabric covering his chest. He held her head where it was, bent back as far as it could go, as she rode out her orgasm. With her entire body pressed against him, his lips were just a millimeter from her throat.

He waited until her convulsions had ceased completely before dropping his hand from her hair. She let her head fall forward, her forehead landing on his shoulder, almost in the crook of his neck. He could feel her warm, panting breaths against his throat. His fingers were still buried inside her.

They remained there, like that, for several minutes.

"Why didn't you let me touch your hair?" she asked in a small, tired voice. She sounded almost asleep against his shoulder.

" _No one_ touches my head, doll."

* * *

So now you guys see where I got my pen name from. I've been thinking about this OC for a while now, and basically made my account on here to write this fic about her. Hopefully it's paying off, and you guys are liking it!

I hope you loved reading this chapter as much as I loved writing it. What are you guys thinking about the Batman's entrance? Do you want to see more of him in the next chapter? I'll have more free time towards the end of this week to really get ahead in my writing, that way I can post on an actual schedule. :) Next chapter will go up in the next couple days.

-nightmoth


	9. Laying Low

Hokay, kiddos, here's the deal. I'm going to impose a one-chapter-a-week rule on myself. I definitely overestimated how quickly I'd be able to get these chapters out. I'd rather have them more spaced out and actually be able to deliver when I say I will than promise I'll have the next one done in two days and then let everyone down, lol. If I happen to be able to post more than once a week, great. But that's going to be the general rhythm unless I say otherwise.

Shoutout to Floetry and Laxelle for the reviews! Thanks babes, keep em coming.

On another note, I wanted to clear up some things about this fic compared to the actual TDK plotline. The timeline in this fic is different than in the movie, as I'm sure you've gathered. A lot more time has passed in the fic between the Joker's first threat on TV and the deaths of the public officials in Gotham. I also would like to note that to be honest, the plotline of TDK is really not important to this fic, so don't think about it too much when you're reading. My final note is that in this fic, Wayne manor isn't under construction, and Bruce still lives there. You'll see why that is in a bit. For our purposes, he really only uses his loft in the Diamond District for parties.

Anyway, here's chapter 9. Enjoy!

 _Disclaimer: I own nothing but my own OC's. The Joker and Bruce Wayne/The Batman are property of DC Comics._

* * *

 **Chapter 9**

Salomé lay in the tub, relishing the feeling of the Epsom-salted hot water on her aching limbs. Her whole body was sore, her face especially. She had been shocked upon waking up this morning and seeing her reflection for the first time since the beat-down Larry Perkins had given her last night. Her lower lip was split and swollen, and she had a fearsome black eye.

 _I can't go to work looking like this,_ she'd realized. She had called Claudia and told her that she wasn't feeling well, that she was worried it was the flu, that they had too much work to do on the new collection to risk everyone getting sick if she came in. She said she'd be working from home until she felt better, and they would have teleconference meetings with the whole team if they needed to.

Then, she had run the water in the tub, saturated it with Epsom salt and lavender-scented bubbles, and lowered herself into the almost-too-hot-to-stand bath. She didn't think she'd get any work done today. She had too much to think about.

She had killed a man. Sure, he was a shitty human being, but a human being nonetheless. And she had killed him.

 _He gave you no choice,_ the dragon inside her whispered, lifting its head.

There's always a choice.

 _He would've killed you._

I could've just knocked him out or something, I didn't have to kill him.

 _You tried that. He was too strong._

She sighed, pressing the heels of her hands into her eyes and ignoring the jolt of pain at the pressure on her bruise. She knew that she didn't really have a choice in the moment. But at the end of the day, it was still her fault. She was 5'3" and 110 pounds soaking wet, yet she had catapulted herself to the rescue as though she were an equal match to a man like Larry Perkins. Who was she becoming? Why did she think she'd be able to do this- to live as a masked vigilante like the Batman, when she didn't have even half of his physical prowess? She gasped and jerked her hands from her eyes, holding them a few inches from either side of her face as she remembered.

The Batman.

She had met the Batman. She had _spoken_ to him. She recalled the feeling of stunning admiration and awe she felt in his presence, and how his heroic power and protectiveness had drawn her in. Guilt and shame filled her as she thought of Larry Perkins again. The Batman wouldn't have killed him.

 _It would've ended with one of your deaths anyway._

Then I should've stayed out of it.

 _You did what you needed to do. And you liked it._

She slowly lowered her hands back into the hot water as her attention turned to the ache in between her legs, laced with residual pleasure from her encounter with the Joker the night before.

The second she thought of him, all traces of the guilt and shame that had filled her a moment ago seemed to evaporate from her body and were replaced with burning strength and something even hotter- devotion, or love, she wasn't sure. She thought about the fact that Larry Perkins' wife would never again have to live in terror of the person she shared a bed with. She could move on with her life and be with someone who treated her well.

And that was thanks to the Joker. Salomé closed her eyes and smiled softly, exhaling. She thought of how good it felt to have his body so close to hers when they saw each other, and how he had recognized her desperate need the night before and met it head-on, how he had acquiesced when she begged him, and how he had sated her so completely even though it was clearly against his usual practice. She thought about how he always seemed to seek her out, even before she had actually met him. _That must mean he cares for me, at least a little bit, right?_ She allowed herself to hope.

As she had walked home after seeing him, she had felt afraid of the wild and reckless pleasure he'd ignited in her. But now, thinking about how his actions- saving Salomé, and unleashing the power that had been locked inside her- touched the lives of people like Larry's wife, she felt pride, not fear.

She wondered when she would see the Joker again, and if this was always how things would be- meeting in the dark, unexpected and at his leisure. She had no idea how to find him or get in touch with him. And now, with her beat-up face, she had to lay low for a while. She didn't want to have any visible injuries that could tie her to Perkins' death if the police were sniffing around. And besides, her whole body was aching. She needed to be at her best in case she had to fight.

She squeezed her eyes shut and slid down in the tub until her head was fully submerged. She thought about how the Joker hadn't allowed her to kiss him, and wondered what it would be like if he did- wondered if she would ever get the chance to find out. She tried to imagine what he would taste like. _God, I'm really falling hard. What the fuck am I doing? I don't even know his name or what his face looks like under all that makeup._

She held her breath until her lungs started to burn and then slowly sat up, sucking in a deep breath of air. She sat there a moment longer before standing up and reaching for her towel.

She spent the next few hours in her home office, leafing through some of the files that her father had given her. One in particular stuck out. It was the file of a man named Casey McMahon who had a child pornography charge on his sheet. His wife had also accused him of molesting one of their children, but he had gotten off on a technicality. He was on the sex offender registry. She sat back in her chair and sighed, wishing she didn't have the bruises on her face so that she could get started on watching him. She set his file aside and turned to her computer, pulling her drawing tablet out of her desk drawer so she could get to work on the next collection.

* * *

The sun had set by the time she finally gave up on trying to work. She had done about thirty sketches, only to erase them immediately after finishing. She couldn't focus. Every time she would try to draw something serious, her thoughts would return to Larry Perkins, or her meeting with the Batman, or the Joker.

She wished he were here. She realized that he was the only one she could see right now, in her current state. He had already seen it. She had wanted to call Martha or Chloe to ask them to come and hang out with her, but she would have too much explaining to do about her black eye and split lip, and there was no plausible lie she could tell about how she got them. She bit her lip in frustration.

She eventually flopped down on the couch and turned the TV on, flipping through the channels. The fourth time she made the full circuit of channels without picking something, she finally stood up. She felt like she was going crazy. Before she could change her mind, she marched into her room and pulled off her leggings and t-shirt, replacing them with a black slip dress and her boots. She pulled her mask on, wincing when it made contact with her black eye. She dabbed concealer on the visible edge of the bruise peeking out from behind the mask.

She slid her brass knuckles onto her hands and stopped in her office to check Casey McMahon's file for his address. She hadn't bothered to turn the light on, and was leafing through the file by the weak light shining through the doorway from the living room.

"Playing it a little _fast_ and _loose_ , aren't we?"

She dropped the file and whirled around, gasping. She could only see his silhouette in the doorway, but she knew it was him. She could see that he had nixed his jacket again tonight, wearing his waistcoat and shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His hands were hidden in his pockets, but she was sure they were covered in his signature leather gloves.

"How the fuck did you get in here?"

He pulled one hand from his pocket and waved the key fob to the elevator in front of her. "You might not want to keep one of these in your car anymore, doll. Makes it all too easy for your _enemies_ to get to you."

She had caught her breath now, and felt a little bubble of excitement swell up in her belly. _He's here,_ she thought. She had to suppress the grin that was fighting to spread across her face.

"Didn't think you were my enemy," she said evenly.

"More fool you," he drawled.

She stared at him a moment before speaking again, unsure of what to do.

"Seems kind of messed up that you can show up whenever and wherever you want, and you always seem to know where I am and what I'm doing, but if I want to see you I can't."

"And why on _earth_ would you want to see me?" he asked with a smirk.

She narrowed her eyes at him but didn't answer, striding towards the door and brushing past him into the living room. She moved toward the elevator, but the Joker's voice stopped her.

"Now, are you _sure_ that's a good idea? I mean, you're all _banged up_ , doll. I might not be around to swoop in and save you next time." His voice dripped with mocking.

"Why do you give a fuck whether I go out or not?" She internally braced herself for the answer, feeling a shameful flicker of hope that he really did care.

"Oh, I don't," he said, flopping down onto the sofa and crossing an ankle over his knee like he owned the place, "but I've invested a _significant_ amount of time and manpower into you, little bird, and I don't like wasted investments. If you go out there and get picked up by the Batman or that silly police commissioner, who are no doubt looking for the _criminal_ "- she flinched at the word- "who slit that wife beater's throat in cold blood, that's exactly what you'll be."

She hated to admit it, but his words stung. An investment? She glared at him. "I'd love to stay and chat, Joker, but I was actually just stepping out when you decided to show up uninvited, so if you wouldn't mind…" She gestured towards the elevator. He raised his eyebrows at her, but didn't move. "Fine. Make yourself at home," she said sarcastically.

She turned on her heel and stalked off towards the elevator, jabbing the button with her finger. Just as the doors opened, she felt his hand wrap around her arm and yank her back. He spun her by the arm and slammed her back against the wall next to the doors. He stared at her, but said nothing. She held his gaze.

After several minutes, he slowly lifted his hand to her mask and pulled it off over her head. His eyes drifted down to her bruise for a second before returning to hers. His body wasn't touching hers, but it was close enough for her to feel his heat. She could smell his sage-y scent.

"I was hoping I would see you," she said, her voice so quiet it was almost a whisper. His expression was smooth and unreadable. "You're the only one I _can_ see like this. I can't tell anyone else about what happened."

Still, he didn't speak. He just kept looking at her. Once again, he slowly lifted his hand to her face. He traced her black eye with his gloved thumb. She placed a trembling hand over his and drew her thumb underneath his palm to flatten out his fingers, before pressing his hand gently into her cheek. He pressed the pad of his thumb into her bruise, causing her to hiss in pain, but she didn't break eye contact. She slid her hand down to his bare wrist and let it rest there, relishing the shiver that went through her when his forearm brushed against her collarbone.

He reached over with his other hand and pressed the button for the elevator. He let his hand rest on her face, his thumb still pressed down against her bruise, and held her gaze until the elevator doors dinged open. Then he dropped his hand and turned to go.

She grabbed his forearm with both hands before she could stop herself. "Wait!"

He stopped, but didn't turn. She realized that she was clutching his forearm and quickly dropped her hands, wringing them in front of her stomach and looking down.

"Could you, um…. Would you come back tomorrow?" she asked in a tiny voice.

She kept her eyes down, waiting for him to make a snide comment of rejection or simply scoff at her. She heard him turn, and looked up to see his signature smirk.

"Maybe, if you're good," he drawled. Then he stepped into the elevator and turned to face her.

She watched his smirk broaden as the doors closed.

* * *

He didn't come the next day.

Or the day after.

Or the day after that.

Even though she was going crazy with cabin fever and she wanted to get started on her next suspect, she forced herself to stay inside. She tried to throw herself into her work, but it was hard to focus when she was constantly wondering when and if the Joker would show up.

She didn't even know what she would do if he _did_ show up. It wasn't like they were going to sit and watch a movie together. But she still craved his presence.

She craved him sexually, of course. She fantasized about wiping the paint off his face and sliding her tongue against his, and about how it would feel to have him inside her. How it would feel to drive him to his breaking point and shove him past it. She fantasized about him saying her name while he came.

But more than anything, she just wanted him to be here. She wanted to be near him, and to take his glove off to touch his bare hand. These were the things that really stirred her. He hadn't given her so much as a kind word to indicate he actually cared about her as more than an "investment", as he had put it. She thought he _must_ care for her in some capacity, otherwise he wouldn't still be in her life. But she was completely devoted to him now, and she couldn't draw back from that. He had set her on a trajectory the night he had saved her from Liam Noss, and there was no way she could veer off now. She was too far in.

It had been four days since he had been in her apartment. Her face was a little better, but her lip still bore a prominent scab and her eye was still bruised, although it had faded somewhat.

She lay in the bath with her eyes closed, lingering in the space between sleep and wakefulness. She let the scent of the rose oil in the water soothe her. She slid down to dunk her head under the water, lingering there for a moment before sliding back up to her previous position, with her head against the rim of the tub and one knee bent and poking out of the water.

When she finally opened her eyes, she was confronted with the sight of the Joker sitting on the chair in front of her vanity table. He had turned it around so that he was facing her through the steam from the bath. His jacket was hung over the back of the chair on top of her towel, leaving him as he was yesterday with his sleeves rolled up. She loved seeing him that way, with the sinews of his arms and shoulders visible. His hands, in their gloves as usual, were folded on his lap, and he had an ankle crossed over his knee. His green hair was swept to one side, like it had been the first night she met him.

She barely reacted to him, still floating in her dreamlike state. She was aware that the water didn't cover her entire chest, and that her nipples just peeked out of the water when she inhaled, but she didn't care. She held his gaze through heavily lidded eyes, letting her head continue to rest back against the tub. She dimly wondered if he was really here, or if she had fully fallen asleep and was dreaming. Either way, she was happy to see him.

"Hi," she said, her voice coming out sleepy, hoarse and low. He remained silent, continuing to study her. His eyes flicked down to her chest and back up to hers. "Some people would call this perverted stalking behavior, you know."

He snorted. "But not you," he said. She shook her head slowly. The steam swirling in the bathroom made everything hazy, and she was starting to be sure that this was a dream. It was just too weird.

"Are you really here, or am I dreaming?" she murmured.

He stood and approached the tub, squatting down next to it. He began to reach a gloved hand out to her face.

"Glove off?" she asked.

He paused, looking at her for a second, before pulling his glove off and reaching out again. He clamped his thumb and forefinger down over her lower lip, right on her scab. She gasped softly at the stab of pain, and then ran her tongue over his finger. He pulled slowly on her lip until it bounced out of his fingers, his eyes never leaving hers. She remarked silently to herself that whenever they were together it was as if their eyes were magnets, unable to pull away from each other.

"So? Am I here or not?" He cocked an eyebrow at her teasingly. His hand still hung over the side of the tub, only a couple of inches away from her face.

She smiled dreamily at him, moving her face to the side to rub her dewy cheek against the back of his fingers. He didn't smile back, but turned his hand and ran his fingertips down the side of her neck, hooking them around a wet lock of her hair as he pulled away. Her eyes widened at this sudden gesture of affection, but then he stood and crossed back to his seat by the vanity.

She was coming out of her dream state now. He sat in silence, looking at her expectantly. She realized that he would probably leave in a few minutes, and a pang of disappointment rang through her. She didn't want him to go.

"You haven't killed anyone," she said matter-of-factly.

He raised an eyebrow in question.

"That day on TV, with the Batman impersonator. The day I got raped," she continued. She thought she saw him twitch a little at the word "rape", but she couldn't be sure. "You said you'd kill more people if the Batman didn't reveal his identity, and he hasn't. But you haven't killed anyone. Why?"

He studied her a moment. "I've been distracted."

"With what?" she asked, her heart beating a little faster. _Does he mean me?_

"Don't play dumb, little bird."

"I'm not."

He narrowed is eyes at her. His voice, which she realized had been close to _normal_ for the whole of their conversation, regained its sardonic tone full-force. "I've been _distracted_ because I've been keeping tabs on my little experiment with _you._ I just _had_ to see how it played out. But not to worry, doll, people will die soon enough." His voice took a chilling note on the last sentence, and she sat up in the tub, drawing her knees up in front of her chest and wrapping her arms around them. But she had more questions.

"What's the deal with you and the Batman, anyway? Why are you doing this?"

"Because he's the only thing standing in between this city and _chaos_ ," he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his eyes boring into hers, "and chaos, little bird, is my favorite word."

"Why do you call me that?" she asked, changing the subject.

He stared at her, but didn't answer. She looked down at her knees for a moment, shivering. The water in the tub was lukewarm at best, now.

"Joker?"

"Hmm?"

"Could you pass me my towel?"

He paused for a beat before standing up and sliding her white, fluffy towel out from under his jacket. He ambled over to the tub and held it out expectantly, remaining on his feet at his full height so that she would have to stand up out of the water to grab it from him. His eyes glinted with amusement as he looked down at her.

She kept her expression smooth as she stood from the tub, noting that his eyes never left hers. She felt a twinge of disappointment. She wanted him to look at her, she realized. She stood for a beat, waiting, but he was stubborn. He kept his gaze locked on hers. Finally, she pulled the towel out of his hand and wrapped it around herself as she stepped out of the tub and stood facing him. She hadn't noticed before how tall he was, because she was always wearing her heeled boots when she saw him. But now, naked and in her bare feet, she saw that he almost towered over her, with the top of her head barely reaching his collarbone.

"Are you going to leave now?" she asked.

"Just _full_ of questions tonight, aren't we?"

"I wish you wouldn't," she said quietly, looking down at his hands, which she now noticed were both bare of gloves.

He hooked a forefinger under her chin.

"Careful what you wish for, doll."

And then he turned, grabbed his jacket and gloves off the chair, and strode gracefully out of the bathroom.

* * *

Salomé felt wide awake and restless after the Joker left. She wanted to get outside and walk, and she decided that since he had just left, he wouldn't be keeping tabs on her at this moment. She donned her Nightmoth outfit and slipped into the elevator, getting out at the loading dock exit instead of the parking lot. She would remain on foot so as to keep a lower profile.

She didn't go to Casey McMahon's, deciding instead to walk aimlessly through the alleyways. She didn't want to be near McMahon until she was fully recovered and ready to fight. In any case, she wasn't in the mood for spy-work tonight. She just wanted some air.

She walked at a leisurely pace, lost in thought about what the Joker had said. She wondered who he would kill, and she felt thankful that she was as close to him as she was. She was sure he wouldn't target either of her parents.

She had been walking for over an hour and had just crossed back into the Diamond District when an enormous, hard hand wrapped around her wrist and yanked her into a little dead-end alley that branched off from where she was walking. The brick slammed against her back and then she was looking up into the gorgeous and imposing face of the Batman, which was inches away from hers.

"Who are you?" he growled. His hand was still wrapped tight around her wrist, but it didn't hurt. She became hyper-aware of the fact that his muscled body was an inch away from hers- if she inhaled deeply, their chests would touch.

"Let go of me," she said. He ignored her.

"I just had a talk with Lieutenant Gordon about a new masked outlaw on the scene, who signed a note left at a murder last week. Know anything about that?"

She didn't answer.

"Let me help you out here. The victim was the very same guy you were watching the night we met-"

"No, the _victim_ was his wife," she retorted, instinctively pushing herself off the wall in her anger and colliding with his hard chest. It felt warm and solid against her own soft, more fragile frame. She liked it. He was so tall that she had to crane her head back to look at him.

"-and the note was signed 'The Nightmoth'." She snapped her mouth closed at that, scowling up at him. She didn't move away, though, and neither did he. Her body was still against his.

"He was going to kill me." Her voice was quiet, and she looked down, almost bumping her forehead on his chest. "He had his hand around my throat, and I had no choice. He deserved worse."

He grabbed her jaw with his thumb and forefinger and firmly pulled it upwards, forcing her to look at him. "Who are you?" he asked again.

"You first," she replied smoothly.

"We aren't talking about me."

"We are now."

"Answer my question, Nightmoth."

"I will, gladly. Just as soon as you answer mine."

He growled in frustration, releasing her jaw and stepping back.

"Watch your back. I protected you today, but I might not always be able to." He turned to go, but she called out to him.

"Why did you?" she asked, stepping closer to him. "Protect me, I mean?"

He regarded her meaningfully. "I feel… connected to you somehow. Maybe because I think we have a lot in common."

"A lot in common? You're much more of a hero than I am," she said.

He continued to look at her, and made a growling noise deep in his throat.

"Stay out of trouble," he said. Then he walked out of the alley, turned a corner, and disappeared.

* * *

Hope you liked it! More coming soon :) Leave a review and let me know what you think.

xo nightmoth


	10. McMahon

I felt pretty inspired after posting the last chapter, so this one came out pretty quickly and I decided to post it early. It's mostly set-up for the next action-y things that are going to happen.

Enjoy!

 _Disclaimer: I own nothing but my OCs. The Joker and Bruce Wayne/Batman are property of DC Comics._

* * *

 **Chapter 10**

The Joker stood in the elevator, staring at his reflection in the mirrored doors as he waited to arrive at the penthouse. He had time to turn the corners of his mouth down in distaste at the gnarled, red scars on his cheeks before the doors slid open with a soft ding, revealing the dimly lit foyer of the little bird's apartment.

He stepped in and quietly stole through the dark rooms until he reached her bedroom, flicking a lamp on in the living room along the way to create some light. The door was open a crack. He pushed it open further and slipped inside, leaving it open enough for a dim shaft of light to filter through from the lamp in the living room.

He settled into the velvet armchair near her bed. Her head was turned towards him, her face sweet and blank in sleep. He was getting used to seeing it bare, after only seeing her with her mask on for so long. She lay on her stomach wearing an oversized white t-shirt, with her arms tucked up underneath her and one hand nestled under her chin. The duvet was pulled up to her waist and her hair, which he had noticed was getting darker as time passed, spilled out behind her head on the pillow.

The little bird thought he just hadn't shown up since the first day he had sought her out here. What she didn't know was that he had been here every night since then. It was a place to have some peace, away from the streets and the warehouse and his goons. Here, alone with the little bird in her nest, he could rest and relax and think- maybe even sleep a little, if he was lucky. He so rarely got to sleep.

He had felt a chord of temptation to stay with her after he'd surprised her in her bath earlier. He knew that was what she wanted. He knew that even now, she wouldn't push him away if he climbed into her bed with her, but he remained in the chair, just the same. The Joker didn't sleep next to someone.

The Joker also didn't watch someone sleep- at least not in a way that wasn't insidious. But he overlooked that. The little bird wasn't just _someone_. That much had become abundantly clear. But if she knew he was doing this, she would read too much into it. She would start asking him questions about his "feelings". He couldn't let that happen.

He leaned his head back against the soft chair and closed his eyes. In a few hours it would be sunrise and he would be back in the warehouse, back to being the soulless killing machine everyone knew him to be.

But for now, he was no one, and he let sleep take him.

* * *

Salomé stood in her closet clad in her bra and underwear, staring at the hanging clothes and trying to decide what to wear. She scanned a row of dresses, her eyes settling on a cognac-colored crepe fit-and-flare minidress with a tied v-neck, sailor-girl style. It had long, slightly puffy sleeves that were cinched at the wrists. She plucked it off its hanger and pulled it on over her head, reaching back to pull the zipper up. She slipped her feet into a pair of chic black leather loafers with an almond toe and a chunky three-inch heel. Then she moved from her closet to the bathroom to finish getting ready.

Her face was all healed up, and she was returning to work today after ten days of recovery. She hadn't seen the Joker since that night in the bath, and she had been going crazy with cabin fever. She could barely contain her excitement at finally being able to get out of her apartment and interact with the outside world. She put some mascara on and pinned the front sections of her hair back behind her head. Then she spritzed some perfume on, grabbed her Chanel quilted chain-strap bag with her wallet, phone, and keys in it, and pressed the button for the elevator.

A thought struck her as she waited for the doors to ding open, and she jogged to her office, grabbing Casey McMahon's file off her desk and dashing back just in time to slip into the elevator. Now that she was healed, she could start watching him.

She stepped out of the elevator at the ground level and strode through the foyer. She could see Edwin waiting in the car outside. She stepped across the sidewalk and opened the car door, dropping into the backseat.

"Morning, Edwin," she said, grinning at him in the rearview mirror.

"Mornin'," he replied. "Feeling better?"

"Much, thanks," she said.

He pulled away from the curb and they set off towards the office.

They drove past Martha's apartment building as they went, and Salomé thought about what a neglectful friend she'd been lately. She just hadn't felt the same about being around people after everything that had happened. But Martha and Chloe were her best friends, and she missed them. She pulled her phone out of her purse and typed out a group text.

Salomé Rowe: are you guys free for lunch today? I could order us something and we could sit in my office and catch up.

Salomé Rowe: i feel horrible for being such a shitty friend lately and i miss you :(

A few moments went by and she was starting to think she had messed things up with her friends worse than she thought, when Martha finally replied.

Martha Fortune: i'm free! and don't worry about it, things have been crazy for you lately. miss you too babe.

Chloe Horowitz: i had lunch plans with my parents but i'll cancel them. us catching up is more important!

Chloe Horowitz: what time should we come?

Chloe Horowitz: martha, I can pick you up on the way

Salomé Rowe: love you guys so fucking much

Salomé Rowe: maybe like 1:30?

Salomé Rowe: what do you feel like eating? Tsunami is super close to the office, idk if you guys feel like sushi though

Martha Fortune: sushi is good! i love that place

Chloe Horowitz: fine by me!

Salomé Rowe: do you guys just want your usual?

Martha Fortune: yep, with extra ginger for me

Chloe Horowitz: yes pls

Salomé Rowe: kk, see you guys at 1:30!

She dropped her phone back into her bag just as Edwin pulled up in front of the building.

"Thanks, Ed. See you at six?"

"I'll be here," he said, turning in his seat to flash her a smile. She grinned back warmly as she opened the door and stepped out on to the sidewalk.

She headed for the executive department first, knocking on her mother's door when she reached the end of the hall.

"Yes!"

She opened the door and stepped inside, shutting it behind her before moving to her mother's desk and sitting down.

"How are you feeling, _trésor_?"

"Much better. Thanks, mom."

"I spent some time in the design department looking at what you've done so far for next season. It's quite different from the other collections you've designed. I'm impressed."

Salomé felt warmth balloon in her chest. That was a big compliment coming from her mother. "Aw, thanks, mom, that means so much. Yeah, I guess I've been going through a lot of, ah, personal growth, and I wanted the collection to reflect that. It's not done yet, obviously, but I'm glad you like what you see so far." She grinned.

"Looking forward to seeing the rest."

"In that case, let me get to it. I'll catch up with you this afternoon." She stood and walked around the desk to give her mother a kiss on the cheek, then exited the office and crossed to her domain on the other side of the top floor, the design department. She stopped at Claudia's desk on her way to her office.

"Morning, Salomé," Claudia smiled.

"Morning, babe. Listen, Martha and Chloe are coming for lunch around 1:30. I wanted to order from Tsunami for us, but I'm thinking let's just order for the entire office since you guys have been working so hard. Can you sort it out? I'll send out an email to the whole office about it, and they can tell you what they want, and I'll also send you what me, Martha, and Chloe want."

"Yeah, sounds good, thanks Salomé! I love Tsunami."

Salomé smiled. "I'm gonna hole up in my office and work through the morning until the girls get here since we'll probably be catching up for a few hours. No calls unless it's urgent."

She continued to her office, shutting the door behind her and tossing her purse to its usual spot on the couch.

She laid Casey McMahon's file on the corner of her desk, pressed the power button on her computer, and pulled out her drawing tablet. She typed out the email about lunch to her team, then sent Claudia the orders for herself and her two friends. Finally, she got to work.

She had been drawing nonstop for three hours when her office phone rang. She slapped her stylus down onto her desk in irritation and snatched the phone out of its cradle.

"I said no calls, Claudia. I'm almost done, whatever it is can wait another half hour."

"No, I know, Salomé, but Bruce Wayne is here to see you."

Salomé sat in her chair, dumbstruck. She must've misheard.

"I'm sorry, what?"

"Uh, Bruce Wayne… He's here to see you. Like, at my desk."

"Umm…. okay. Okay, send him in," she muttered. She hung up and sighed in disdain. _What the fucking hell is Bruce doing here?_

A few seconds later, a sharp knock sounded at her door and then it opened to reveal the tall, suited figure of Bruce Wayne. Salome stood and came around her desk.

"Bruce," she acknowledged in as friendly a tone as she could muster. "What a pleasant surprise."

"Looking lovely as always, Salomé," he said smoothly. He smiled his usual cocky smile, and she could see from the amusement in his eyes that he saw right through her show of friendliness.

She gestured towards one of the chairs across from her desk.

"Please, sit." He did, crossing an ankle over his knee. She settled into her own chair. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"I actually just wanted to drop off an invitation to a party I'm having. I left it with your mother, but I figured I'd say hi just the same."

"Well, that's sweet of you, but I think I've probably reached my quota for your parties after the last one." She wanted him to stop inviting her to things, and she wanted him to get out of her office.

He laughed. "Don't be silly. I'd love to have you there. You and your parents."

She smiled tightly, not bothering to make it look genuine. "I'll do my best to make it," she said.

He stood. "That's all I ask. I won't keep you. I left my date out with your assistant and I should probably go rescue her." He had a smug look on his face.

She continued to smile, now with thinly veiled disgust. "Probably a good idea. Thanks for stopping by." She walked him to the door and lingered a moment as he sidled over to Claudia's desk, where a very young-looking blond girl wearing short white shorts, a flouncy white top, and wedge sandals was waiting. He wrapped an arm around her waist and nodded at Claudia as they headed towards the elevators.

Salomé narrowed her eyes. _If ever there was someone in a position to take advantage of girls, it would be him,_ she thought. _He's got power, resources, a mansion outside the city… that girl looked like a teenager. I wonder if he's coercing any of them._ It was a well-known fact that he was a womanizer. She crossed to the floor-to-ceiling window in her office just in time to see Bruce helping his date into his car. She made up her mind to watch him for a few days and make sure he wasn't up to anything bad.

"Okay, what in the royal fuck was Bruce Wayne doing here?"

Salomé turned to see Martha and Chloe standing in the doorway, and skipped across her office to throw an arm around each of them.

"So happy to see you guys!" she squealed.

"Yeah, me too," Martha said, patting Salomé's back sarcastically, "but I repeat, what in the royal fuck was Bruce Wayne doing here?" She moved Salomé's bag to the table and flopped down on the couch.

"Oh, he was just inviting me to some dumb party," Salomé said, rolling her eyes.

Chloe snorted as she took the spot on the couch next to Martha. "I guess he just didn't get enough of you last time."

"Shut up," Salomé said, kicking her leg out towards Chloe playfully as she settled into one of the comfy chairs across from the couch. "Did you see that child he was with? He's so disgusting."

Claudia knocked on the doorframe and entered with two large brown bags.

"Here's your food, guys," she said.

"Thanks, Claud," Martha said.

"Can you shut the door on your way out, babe?" Salomé called as she exited.

"Yeah, I don't know where he finds these girls, honestly," Martha said, slumping back into the couch and examining the ends of her blonde hair as Claudia shut the door. "I've dreamt of having a date with him ever since the first party I saw him at when I was fourteen, and here he is with some teenager wearing _cork wedge sandals_." She finished with her voice dripping in disgust. Chloe and Salomé laughed.

"Pretty offensive," Chloe mockingly agreed.

The sushi was delicious, and they passed the rest of the afternoon laughing together and catching up. After so many days of total isolation, it felt amazing to be with her friends in such a _normal_ way. She was getting too used to her encounters with the Joker, which were anything but normal. She realized that she did miss this old, good side of herself. She may not have had the wild freedom she felt now, but she was happy when the good side was all she was.

Now, things were more complicated. She supposed that things were always bound to be more complicated when you had to hide half of your life away from everyone around you. The entire afternoon with Chloe and Martha, they had been filling her in on everything they'd been doing in the last months. But she had to lie and pretend that all she'd been doing was working. How could she ever tell them that in the last few months she'd killed a man, adopted a vigilante identity, and fallen in love with the Joker? She thought of the Batman. During the day, he was just another Gotham citizen. She wondered how he dealt with his double life. Maybe she would ask him the next time they ran into each other.

She was sad to see Chloe and Martha go when five-thirty rolled around and she had to wrap up her workday.

But her sadness was short-lived, because then she remembered that tonight she would stake out Casey McMahon for the first time.

* * *

Salomé had mulled over her plans for Casey McMahon in the car as Edwin drove her home. She realized that it was a different situation from that of Larry Perkins. It wasn't like he routinely molested children at home on a daily basis, so she couldn't watch and wait for something to happen like she had with Perkins. That could take months.

No, she would have to do some of her own detective work to find out what really happened when his wife accused him of molesting their children. And if and when she was absolutely certain he was guilty, she would confront him. She checked her watch. It was only six-twenty. Still plenty early enough to make a house call to McMahon's ex wife.

"See you Monday, Ed. Have a nice weekend," she said as she got out of the car.

Her thoughts turned to the Joker as she rode up in the elevator. She wondered if he would be watching her tonight, if she would see him. She hoped so. She'd missed him the last few days. She had thought back a million times to how he had affectionately caressed her neck in the bath that night. She wanted him to touch her like that again.

The elevator doors dinged open, pulling her out of her thoughts. She had to get moving now. She bounded through her apartment to her closet, dropping her bag on the little island couch there and flicking on the light. She needed to find her most professional looking outfit.

After much rifling through her clothes, she picked out a classic Chanel black and white tweed pencil skirt and jacket combo and a white button-down to wear underneath. She slipped her feet into some black Louboutin pumps and crossed to her bathroom to sit at her vanity.

She swept her hair up in to a chic high bun. But she felt she needed one more thing to complete her disguise. Something that would make her look bookish and serious.

She marched back to her closet and rifled through some drawers until she found a pair of black-framed fake spectacles, left over from when wearing glasses was a trend in 2009. She put them on, slung her chain strap bag over her shoulder, and grabbed McMahon's file. She checked herself in her bedroom mirror and snorted at her reflection. _I look like such a professional,_ she thought amusedly. She swept out of her bedroom to the elevator, stopping in her office along the way to grab a notepad and a pen. Then she rode the elevator down to the garage.

She slid into the driver's seat and leafed through McMahon's file, searching for his wife's address. She tapped it into the GPS in her car. _Twenty-five minute drive,_ she thought. She put the Audi in gear and set off.

McMahon's wife lived in a little townhouse a ways outside of the Diamond District, in a neighborhood that wasn't sketchy by any means, but wasn't ritzy either. Salomé found street parking a couple of blocks away. Leafing through the file one last time, Salomé saw that Mrs. McMahon and her husband hadn't officially divorced, but were separated. She took a deep breath before stepping out of the car, locking up, and walking briskly towards the townhouse.

She mounted the steps to the front door and rang the doorbell.

A moment passed before she heard the locks turning, and then the door opened to reveal a thin middle-aged woman with mousy brown hair and a world-weary expression.

"Yes?" she asked.

"Mrs. McMahon, good evening. I'm so sorry to bother you at home like this. My name is Bridgitte Marsden, I'm from the district attorney's office. I just wanted to ask you some follow-up questions about your husband's case, if you have a moment to spare."

"Why are you asking questions about that? I thought the case was closed," she said, narrowing her eyes suspiciously.

"Officially, yes, it is. But I feel that it was handled incorrectly, so I'm trying to have it reopened. I specialize in these types of cases, so I might have a better take on things. And our new DA, Harvey Dent, is very proactive."

Mrs. McMahon stared at her suspiciously a moment longer before stepping aside and gesturing for Salomé to come in. She led her to a small sitting room with a couch and a couple of armchairs and sat down, motioning for Salomé to do the same. Salomé sat on the sofa across from her.

"Ask away," Mrs. McMahon said.

"Well, since I wasn't with the DA's office when your case was handled, I was wondering if you could just walk me through what happened, and how you came to accuse your husband."

"What happened was I caught him in the act. I woke up in the middle of the night and he wasn't in bed next to me. I walked down the hall to use the bathroom and I heard rustling in my daughter's room. When I opened the door, he was on top of her." She wore a sickened look on her face. "His pants down… you know." She looked down at her hands and sniffed. "She was only six at the time."

A lump of disgust rose in Salomé's throat. "I'm so sorry. What happened next?"

"I screamed. He jumped off her, and tried to play it off like it wasn't what it seemed. But what else could it have been? I mean, what other occasion is there for a man to be in between someone's legs with his pants down?" She shook her head. "I grabbed Katie and my son and locked us in our room. I started asking her questions, like how long this had been going on. She said since her birthday, which was almost a year before that. She said he told her that it was the way a daddy showed he loved his daughter." She let out a choked sob as her last words left her.

Salomé felt rage swelling inside her. She leaned forward and took Mrs. McMahon's hands in hers. "I'm going to make sure he never does this to Katie or any other little girl ever again. I can promise you that." She gave her hands a squeeze and then let go.

"I still have the tape from when the police therapist interviewed Katie. I asked for it after they closed the case. I could give it to you if it would help."

"Thank you, I think it really would."

Mrs. McMahon left the room for a moment. Salomé took a deep breath and squeezed her eyes shut, fighting back the tears that were starting to prickle them. _Six years old,_ she thought. _That fucking bastard._

His wife returned with a VHS tape a couple minutes later.

"Thank you so much, Mrs. McMahon. This will be really helpful. I'm going to get to work on it straightaway." She stood and regarded Mrs. McMahon. "You and your daughter are very strong."

Then she turned and headed for the door, opening it and slipping out into the warm night air.

She tried to stamp down her rage and come up with a plan as she drove back home. She would watch that tape, to start with. She realized she didn't have a VHS player at home and made a detour towards the office. She would have to use the A/V room.

She parked in her spot and badged into the elevator, stepping out on the deserted eighteenth floor, where the audiovisual department was. She badged into the A/V room and shut the door behind her.

She pushed the tape into the VCR player and turned on the accompanying TV. The image popped up onto the screen. She could see the back of a man's head, and a little girl with light brown hair.

"Katie," the man said. "Can you tell me about your daddy?"

"He loves me," Katie said, fiddling with some blocks on the table in front of her.

"What sorts of things do you do together?" the man asked.

"We play games."

"What's his favorite game?"

Katie was silent for a long moment.

"Katie? Can you answer my question?"

"The one where he comes in my room."

Salomé sucked in a deep breath and shook her head.

"What are the rules of that game?" the man asked.

"I have to lie still and be quiet."

"Mhmm?"

"And then he takes his pants off."

"And then what?" the man asked gently.

"And then he-" Salomé turned the TV off and pressed the "eject" button. She couldn't watch anymore. She felt the rage welling up inside her again.

She slipped out of the A/V room and rode the elevator back down to her car. As she drove home, she formulated a plan. She would observe McMahon for a couple days to learn his habits. And then she would confront him. She would make sure he knew that if he ever went near another child again, there would be hell to pay.

* * *

She immediately changed into her Nightmoth outfit when she got home, and then walked right back out the door. She got behind the wheel of the Audi and set off for Casey McMahon's house.

He lived in a shabby little house in a seedy neighborhood on the outskirts of town. It took Salomé nearly forty minutes to drive there. She parked her car a ways down the street and walked towards the house. All of the lights were off, and there was no car in the driveway.

She walked around the side of the house to the back door and jiggled the handle. Locked. She moved towards a screened window to the left of the door and gingerly pried the screen off with her knife, then tried the window. It slid open.

She hoisted herself up and climbed through, landing on her feet in the kitchen. She paused and listened, in case someone was here after all. Her knife was still wrapped in her fist. She exited the kitchen and moved down the hall. She opened a door to her left and found a half bathroom. Behind another door to her right was a small office-type space with a computer. She crept in and hit the space bar, and the screen came to life directly to the desktop. _No password. What an idiot,_ she thought. She quickly opened a browser window and checked his history. Nothing. _Hmm._

She pulled open one of the drawers of the desk, then another. The third drawer she opened contained a laptop. _Bingo,_ she thought. Slipping her knife back in its holster, she pulled the laptop out and perched on the chair with it in her lap. She opened it up. It, too, had no password. She opened a browser window and checked the history. It was full of what looked like kiddie porn sites. She found one link that looked like a chat room, and clicked on it. It took her to a kiddie porn chat site. She looked at the first chat in the history and found hundreds of messages between McMahon and another man, discussing how they wanted to find a little girl to snatch, and what they would do to her if they did. She shuddered in revulsion.

She searched through his files, finding the one that contained all his images. About a hundred photos of little girls in various states of undress leered back at her.

She exited out of all windows and slammed the laptop shut, placing it back in the drawer. Then she crept back the way she'd come and climbed out of the window. As far as she was concerned, she had all the proof she needed.

She replaced the screen and then looked both ways to make sure no one was around before jogging back to her car. She was going to watch and wait to see when he would get home.

Her heart did a flip in her chest and she stopped short when she saw the painted face staring at her through the windshield.

She sighed exasperatedly and slid into the driver's seat.

"Did you have someone drop you off here just so you could creep up on me? Are they waiting nearby, or are you going to ask me for a ride home after our date?"

The Joker smirked.

"I won't even bother asking how you got in my car."

"You're learning," he drawled. "What did this one do?" He nodded towards McMahon's house.

"He molested his daughter."

He made a noise deep in his throat. It wasn't disapproval, but sounded more like fascination.

She snuck a glance at him through her lashes, and plucked up her courage.

"I'm glad to see you," she said shyly. "Creepy sneakiness aside."

He raised his eyebrows at her. Neither of them spoke for a few minutes.

"So, what do you have in store for Mr. Child Molester?" he asked sardonically.

She shrugged. "I'm just going to confront him. Make sure he knows he's being watched, and not to try anything."

"Not going to give him the same fate as your wife beater?"

"I didn't _want_ to give the wife beater that fate."

"That's debatable, but either way, you sure liked it."

"I didn't like it."

He cocked an eyebrow at her. "Tell that to my fingers, dollface."

"Maybe- maybe I acted out afterwards. I had a lot of energy and emotions that I needed an outlet for. And maybe I liked what I did with you. I mean, I _did_ like what I did with you. But I didn't enjoy killing him. I _didn't_ ," she ended with conviction. She realized how childish she sounded.

His eyebrow rose even higher. "Whatever helps you sleep at night, little bird."

They sat in silence for nearly an hour, watching. Finally, a beat up old car came tearing around the corner and swerved into McMahon's driveway. Salomé checked the time on her car's console. Eleven-thirty. She waited until McMahon was inside his house.

"I'll be right back." She opened her door and jogged towards McMahon's car, wanting to get a closer look. It was a Toyota Camry that must've been from the nineties. She glanced at the license plate, taking note of the first three letters, then turned to jog back to her car.

The Joker was gone.

She sighed in disappointment as she got behind the wheel and turned over the engine. _That was still, like, forty minutes longer than he usually stays,_ she thought to herself.

Her thoughts returned to McMahon. _I should watch him for a couple more days, just to see if he gets home around the same time every night._

She peeled away from the curb and set off towards home.

* * *

Like I said, it's mostly setup, but I hope you liked it just the same. Action coming up next chapter! Stay tuned :)

xo nightmoth


	11. The Batman

Hello beautiful people! Hope anyone in Northeast America managed to stay warm this weekend- it was a balmy 9 degrees F with windchill where I am.

Another big thank you to Floetry and Laxelle for reviewing! So so glad you guys are loving it :)

We've got a hefty chunk of Batman in this chapter, hence the name. He's going to start being a more prominent character in the fic now, so hopefully you guys are liking him haha.

Warning: There's some graphic violent content in this chapter.

Enjoy!

 _Disclaimer: I own nothing but my OC's. The Joker and Bruce Wayne/the Batman are property of DC Comics._

* * *

 **Chapter 11**

"Darling, I'm about to reply to Bruce Wayne's party invitation. Shall I RSVP for all three of us?"

"Yeah, I won't be going to that, mom," Salomé said loudly towards her phone, where her mother was on speaker. She pulled on a pair of Nike leggings and a cropped black sweatshirt.

"You can't never show your face again at a party just because of one bad experience at Bruce's," Jeanne said sharply.

"I'll gladly go to any party, so long as it isn't hosted by Bruce Wayne," Salomé retorted.

"Fine, suit yourself. I'll send your regards when your father and I go."

"I don't have any regards for Bruce, so that won't be necessary."

She heard her mother sigh audibly through the receiver, and chuckled.

"I gotta go, mom, talk to you later." She made a kissing noise and hung up.

She plopped down on the divan in her closet and yanked on an old pair of sneakers. Then she dropped her wallet, phone, keys, and a flashlight into her Gucci backpack and pressed the button for the elevator.

She was on her way to stake out Wayne Manor.

She had watched Casey McMahon for the past two nights, and determined that he usually didn't get home until eleven at the earliest.

In light of this, she had a busy night planned.

She was going to watch Wayne Manor from the woods all afternoon and through the evening, then go home, change into her black slip dress, and return to McMahon's house to confront him. Once that was done, she would go back to Wayne manor and watch through the night. She just wanted to see what a typical night was like for Bruce, and watch out for anything suspicious. If she saw something weird, then she would find some pretense to go to the house and visit him so she could snoop around. She knew he would have cameras on the house, so here was no point in breaking in.

She went over her plans again as she drove out of the city towards the Manor. Eventually she diverted onto a back road that would take her behind the woods of the estate so she could leave her car somewhere that wasn't obvious. She knew the property around the Manor well, since she had done a lot of exploring at Bruce's birthday parties there as they'd grown up.

She offroaded a little to park the car on the edge of the woods, then got out and slung her backpack on to her back. She was glad the dwindling summer days were still warm so that she wouldn't have to be outside in the cold.

She hiked through the woods for an hour, looking for a vantage point that would give her the most complete view of the Manor. Finally, she found a thickly wooded area, the edge of which looked out at the Manor on a diagonal angle so that she could just see around the corner to the front of the house, but could also see around the corner to the back if she moved a few yards to her right. She cleared a spot for herself amidst some bushes and sat down. She could see pretty well through the branches.

It was actually quite peaceful here, with the sunlight filtering through the trees and dappling the ground. The air smelled fresh and warm, and Salomé entered an almost meditative state as she listened to the sounds of the wind and the birds and waited for something to happen. She'd spent so much time out at night lately that she had almost forgotten what it felt like to be in the sun.

The sun was low in the sky when Bruce Wayne's gray Lamborghini whipped into view, parking in front of the Manor. She leaned forward and saw him get out of the car, walk around to the passenger's side, and open the door for a pretty young brunette. They stepped forward holding hands and disappeared from view as they mounted the stairs to the front door. Salomé rolled her eyes. _Getting started early, are we, Bruce?_ she thought.

It was dark out two hours later, when Alfred appeared and got in the driver's side of the Lamborghini. He turned the car on and let it idle. A few moments later, the brunette appeared and got in the passenger's side. Salomé craned her neck to see. _Not even driving her home yourself after. What a sleazy move._ But the girl didn't look upset or out of it, she realized with some relief. Alfred pulled a U-turn and disappeared down the driveway.

She waited another half hour before deciding it was time for her to go if she wanted to get to McMahon's house before he got home. She switched on her flashlight and made her way through the woods back to her car.

 _Okay, part one complete_ , she thought to herself as she pulled away from the woods and drove back down the road towards the city. She sped home, realizing how close she was cutting it. She wanted to be in McMahon's house, waiting for him, by ten forty-five. It was already nine-thirty and she still had to stop home and change.

She skidded into her parking spot and jogged to the elevator. The second the doors dinged open at the penthouse, she sprinted through her apartment to her closet, stripped off her leggings and sweatshirt, and tossed one of her black slip dresses on over her head. She hurriedly strapped the Joker's card to her thigh with her knife holster, pulled on her boots, and jogged to the bathroom to put on her mask. She grabbed her brass knuckles from her bedside table and then was back in the elevator on her way down to the garage.

She somehow managed to get to Casey McMahon's house with time to spare, at ten-forty. She snuck around to the back of the house and removed the window screen as she had done the other day. She slid the window open and climbed through, dropping down on the other side.

She moved through to the front of the house, which she hadn't done the first time she'd broken in, and saw that there was a living room area adjacent to the door. _Perfect_ , she thought. She sat in an armchair facing the door, so that when he walked in and turned on the light she would be he first thing he saw.

She took a moment to absorb what she could see of her surroundings in the dark. There was a sofa to her left, and another armchair across the room. She took a deep breath and crossed one leg over the other, folding her hands in her lap.

She felt her nerves building as she waited. She knew that once she saw his face, her inner dragon would take over and she would be eerily calm. But right now, the suspense was killing her.

Luckily, she knew from his file that he wasn't a particularly big man. In fact, he was rather skinny and only about five-foot-eleven, compared to Larry Perkins' burly six-foot-four. She knew she could overpower him if she got her timing right.

It was another twenty-five minutes before she heard his car pull up into the driveway. She straightened in her chair.

A key fumbled in the lock, and then the door was opening. She heard him step inside.

The light flicked on and she did her best to hide the fact that it hurt her eyes.

Casey McMahon had a pinched face, wispy blonde hair, and cruel, watery eyes. She was taken aback at how scary he looked in person, despite his rather diminutive size. He looked like someone with no limits, no morals. She fleetingly wondered how a woman like Mrs. McMahon ended up with someone like him.

He started when he saw her. "Who are you and what the fuck are you doing in my house?" he asked sharply. The second he spoke, she felt the heat of the dragon filling up her skin.

"Just came to talk, Casey. I've got a little bone to pick with you," she said evenly.

"I said, who are you?"

"I'm the Nightmoth. And I think you should sit down."

"Fuck that, I'm calling the police," he said, moving to grab his phone out of his pocket.

"I _highly_ recommend that you sit down, Casey, otherwise I'm going to jam my knife into your throat. And I'm much faster than I look," she said, her voice hardening.

He snorted derisively, but hesitantly approached the couch and sat nonetheless, eyeing her warily.

"Now," Salomé continued calmly, "I'm here to talk to you about your daughter and your perverted Internet habits." She paused to let him react, but he just narrowed his eyes at her.

"Here's the deal. I'm going to be watching you, and you're going to behave. If I see you anywhere near a child, you die. If I see on your browser history, which I _will_ be checking by the way, that you're visiting anymore kiddie porn sites or pedophile chat rooms, you die. If I feel the slightest bit of a wrong-doing kind of vibe coming from you, you die. Am I clear?"

He began to nod slowly, and she was starting to think she could get through this with no physical contact. But then his hand jerked towards his pocket and he started pulling out his phone.

Salomé was on him before he could get the phone fully out of his pocket.

She leapt onto his lap and threw the phone across the room before slamming her brass knuckles into his nose. Blood immediately began to pour from his nostrils. His head jerked back, but he made no noise.

"Casey, why'd you have to do that? I was hoping we could come to a peaceful agreement. Now you've made things more painful for yourself."

She punched him again. "So, are you going to behave?" she asked, drawing her fist back again.

He laughed. It was a grotesque sight. The blood from his nose trickled in between his teeth, giving him a red smile.

"Oh, you're pathetic," he spat at her. "You might watch me for a few weeks, maybe even a few months"- she punched him again- "but then, just like the cops, you'll move on to someone else." She punched him harder, but he kept talking. _He's not afraid of pain,_ she realized. "And then I'll be free to do just what I've been planning. And you won't be there to stop me." He grinned wider.

"Shut up," she said, punching him again.

He kept smiling. "You know, it's too bad they got me when they did. I was just getting started with Katie." Salomé's eyes darkened as she felt uncontrollable rage swell inside her.

"Shut up," she repeated, louder this time.

"I was hoping to milk that for all it was worth. She had some good years ahead of her for me, and then I could move on to something else when she was twelve or so-"

"Shut the _fuck_ up!" Salomé was yelling now. She punctuated her words with another blow to his nose.

His grin never left his face. "-such a waste. She was so obedient. Never screamed or anything-" He leaned forward, his disgusting, bloody face a few inches from hers. She could've punched him again, but it was like her limbs were frozen as her anger threatened to completely possess her. "-and you _know_ it had to hurt when I fucked her."

She almost went blind with rage, and before she knew it, her knife was in her hand. She plunged it into his chest, screaming. She pulled it back out, and plunged it in again, and again, and again, and again. She was dimly aware that he never screamed, and hot tears were pouring down her cheeks. Her vision tunneled. His blood was everywhere.

She was yanking the knife out of his chest and drawing it back to stab him again when she felt a huge, vice-like hand wrap around her wrist. And then she was being yanked back, and the strong, black arm of the Batman was wrapping around her waist to keep her on her feet as her back collided with his chest. She was hyperventilating, sucking in gasping breaths of air as quickly as her lungs would allow. The tears kept streaming, making the underside of her mask slick.

The Batman pried her knife out of her hand and hauled her out the front door, dragging her around to the secluded area on the side of the house. He turned her around to face him, but she barely registered his presence. Her vision was still tunneled and she was lightheaded from the amount of oxygen going to her brain as she hyperventilated. The only thing she was aware of was her rage.

He placed his huge gloved hands on either side of her face and looked into her blank eyes.

"Hey. Hey! Stay with me," he growled. She tried to focus on his eyes, which she noticed were dark brown. She still felt like she couldn't get enough air. "Breathe, Nightmoth," he said, shaking her head gently with his hands. "Breathe."

She clutched his wrists with all her might and kept her eyes on his as she tried to slow her breathing. He waited patiently, never removing his hands from her face. She could feel the warmth of his skin coming through the gloves of his suit, and it made her feel a little calmer. Her breaths were still gasping, but they were longer and slower, and her vision was starting to return to normal. She realized that she was shaking violently. Her knees felt like jelly.

A choked sob escaped her throat, and soon she was crying in earnest. She instinctively drew towards the Batman's chest, burying her face in it as she wept. He seemed stunned for a moment, but then she felt his strong hand on the back of her head and his other arm around her back, holding her firmly against him. He let her cry in his arms for a few moments before placing his hands on her shoulders and drawing back.

"Listen to me," he growled. "You need to get out of here. I'll take care of it, but you need to be gone before the police come. The neighbors probably heard you screaming."

"W-what?" she asked, her voice wobbly.

"Get in your car, and drive away," he said haltingly.

She grabbed onto his forearms as he began to draw back. She didn't want him to leave. She liked the way she felt around the Batman. He made her feel… _good_ , and worthy.

He stared at her a moment and sighed. "Why do you do it this way? Why don't you just work with the police, so you don't always have to be looking over your shoulder?"

She stepped back at that. "The _police?_ " she exclaimed in disgust. "If the police had just done their jobs right the first time, we wouldn't even be here!"

His expression hardened as he pulled her knife out of his belt and handed it back to her. "We don't have time to argue about this now. Get out of here." He turned away from her and started back towards the front door.

Guilt struck through her, and she stepped forward, grabbing his arm.

"No, wait," she said. He stopped and turned back to look at her. She stepped towards him again, wringing her hands. "I'm sorry. I know you're trying to help me. But I don't deserve your help. I'm not like you, Batman. I'm not… good." She looked down, trying to hide the tears that were filling her eyes again. She exhaled deeply, realizing how good it felt to be vulnerable with someone who could understand her. As devoted as she was to the Joker, she couldn't be like this with him. He didn't care about her goodness. But the Batman made her want to be better.

She felt relief and hope when she was with him, and now another feeling was spreading inside her that she didn't immediately recognize. Her eyebrows knitted together under her mask when she realized that it was attraction, but it wasn't like what she felt for the Joker. It was still primal in a way, but less dark and violent.

Batman hooked a finger under her chin and lifted it firmly, forcing her to look at him.

"You could be," he said. He looked at her a few more seconds as more tears spilled out of her eyes, and then jerked his head to the side. "Go."

She nodded her head, sniffling. "Thank you," she whispered. She wanted to reach out and squeeze his hand, but he was already turning away. So instead she headed around the back of the house to her car on shaky legs and took a deep, stabilizing breath as she slid behind the wheel.

Then she turned the key in the ignition and drove home.

* * *

She spent half an hour under the hot stream of the shower when she got home, washing off Casey McMahon's blood and trying to stabilize her nerves so she could get in the right frame of mind for the next part of her plans. She'd debated whether she was even feeling right enough to go back to Bruce's, but ultimately she'd decided that she needed the distraction. She didn't want to think about everything that had just happened.

She decided to put back on the same leggings-and-sweatshirt outfit she'd had on earlier, and soon she was back in the car and on her way.

She couldn't help but think about the Batman as she drove, and their encounter. She had been so addicted to the god-like power that the Joker made her feel, but the Batman had surprised her.

He had made her feel so _human_ , and she was shocked at how much she liked that feeling.

She parked the Audi on the edge of the woods, just as she had done earlier, and clicked on her flashlight as she hiked back to her spot in the bushes. She checked the time on her phone. Two A.M.

She looked through the branches and saw that the Lamborghini was in its spot in front of the Manor. _He must be home_ , she thought. She rubbed her arms, trying to fight against the slight chill in the air.

She sat quietly for forty minutes, watching. All the lights in the Manor appeared to be off, though, and she was growing tired. Assuming he had gone to bed already, she began to gather her things.

Then she heard the distinct rumbling of wheels on the gravel of the driveway. _Who's coming here at this hour if he's home already?_ she wondered. She squatted, leaning forward on the balls of her feet as she peered through the branches to see who it was.

An enormous black car roared around the corner. She saw that it was low to the ground and had no visible windshield as it disappeared somewhere around the back of the house. It seemed to be made of the same kind of indestructible metal as army tanks. Its enormous front wheels were exposed and closer together than a normal car's, and the back wheels looked almost like those of a tractor.

Salomé fell back onto her bottom and clapped a hand over her mouth in shock, because that car was unmistakable.

It was the Batmobile.

She scrambled to her feet and ran, as fast as she could, back through the woods to her car. She wrenched the door open and leapt inside, slamming it shut after her.

She clutched the wheel to keep her hands from shaking as she panted, shaking her head in absolute shock.

Bruce Wayne was the Batman.

* * *

I'm sorry there was no Joker this chapter, but not to worry, he'll be back. I hope you liked it just the same!

-nightmoth


	12. Damaged Goods

Hi guys! Hope everyone's week was good :)

Shoutout to Floetry, Laxelle, and Birdie for your reviews! Always love hearing what you guys are thinkin.

So, let's clear up some things, since people are seeming a bit concerned, lol. This is a Joker/OC fic. Salomé is in love with the Joker, and nothing is going to change that. However, the Batman has a significant role to play because he brings out Salomé's internal struggle between her good self and "bad" self, which we'll go more into in this chapter. It's not going to turn into an actual love triangle because I hate rivalry stories where two guys/girls are fighting over the someone, so don't worry about that.

With that being said, here's chapter 12, enjoy! Some tough moments coming up in this chapter, so sorry in advance, but it's necessary.

* * *

 **Chapter 12**

Salomé sat curled up in a warm, sunny patch on her couch, holding a mug of tea in her hands and looking out the window. She had slept through the morning, and it was late afternoon now.

She was still in her sleep shirt, having had no energy to get dressed or do much of anything. Too much had happened in the last twenty-four hours. She needed to process it.

She had a million emotions swirling inside her, and she was trying to sort through them. First, was guilt. She had let herself lose control last night, and because of that, a man was dead. She didn't even have a valid reason for killing him, as she'd had for Larry Perkins. He wasn't threatening her life. She'd killed him because she _wanted_ to. She knew that he was an even worse human being than Perkins, but it wasn't McMahon himself that she was grieving for. It was the loss of another inch of her humanity.

Next, were shame and embarrassment. Not only had she lost control and killed someone, but the Batman had seen her do it. It would've been one thing for the Joker to see her. He would have validated her, egged her on. But the Batman was good. He made _her_ want to be good. She didn't want him to see her like that, at her most animalistic. And to top it all off, he had helped her. He had cleaned up her mess and told her that she wasn't a lost cause. And that led her to the next emotion: gratefulness. She didn't know if she'd ever be able to thank the Batman enough for what he'd done.

And then there was Bruce Wayne. Bruce Wayne was the Batman. The god-like vigilante whose presence had shaken and inspired her was none other than the man she had spent countless hours hating. The man she had said was shallow and lacking any morals.

 _I was so wrong about him,_ she thought, pressing her fingers into her eyelids. _He's put up this front of being vapid and conceited, and all the while, he's been out there protecting us all. Putting himself in danger so that Gotham can be a better place._ She felt even more in awe of him now than she had before.

She chuckled darkly when she thought back to how Batman had said he thought they had a lot in common. _He had no idea how much,_ she thought. Both of them from wealthy families, running in the same social circles their whole lives, growing up together, and somehow they had found each other through their vigilante identities as well. Even those identities were similar- both dark winged creatures of the night.

And this was what led her to the most tempestuous emotional storm of all, raging inside her. It was like both sides of her were awake, arguing with each other. The dragon was on one side, screaming for the Joker, for the freedom and power and wild hunger he gave her. And her more human side was screaming for the Batman, for his strength and unwavering goodness. She felt nearly schizophrenic, listening to the conflicting thoughts firing back and forth through her brain.

 _The Joker saved you. He gave you everything you are now. He gave you power. He's always been there for you, even if he's harsh and distant. You love him._

But you have no future with the Joker. You don't even know his name. You can't find him if you want to see him, and you don't even know if he actually cares. He won't let you kiss him, or see his true face. He wants to be a stranger to you.

 _He wouldn't still be around if he didn't care. He makes you feel things you never thought you could feel. He gives you freedom you never thought you'd have. The Batman could never make you feel those things. He doesn't love you. He just sees how you're similar._

The Batman can actually be with you. You know Bruce in real life. You could be together fully, and not hide from each other. You could help people together. He would keep you honest. He wants you to be better, and he respects you.

 _The Batman doesn't respect the part of you that kills._

The Joker doesn't respect the part of you that values life.

She let out a grunt of frustration and hurled her mug of tea across the room, watching it shatter against the opposite wall. Then she buried her head in her hands. _None of this matters, anyway,_ she thought to herself. _The Joker would never admit that he cares for me, and I don't even know if I actually have feelings for the Batman._

She sighed and hugged her bare knees up to her chest, resting her forehead against them. She didn't know how long she stayed there like that, but the sun was down and the room dim when she heard the dinging of the elevator doors.

She lifted her head as the Joker appeared in the doorway. He approached her smoothly and sat at the other end of the sofa. She reached out to flick on the lamp, following him with her eyes.

"Where have you been?" she asked hoarsely.

He raised his eyebrows at her but ignored her question.

"You've been busy, haven't you?" His voice had an unusual edge.

"Guess that means you were watching last night?"

He looked her in the eye.

"Didn't care for last night's _show_ as much as the others." His voice was dripping with contempt. Salomé felt a spike of anger. She was on edge from everything that had happened, and she didn't have patience for his games. She stood up and crossed her arms over her chest, uncaring of the fact that she was wearing just a thin white T-shirt and her underwear.

"If you have something to say to me, why don't you just say it?"

He snorted, but the cruel sparkle in his eyes remained. He stood in one fluid motion and stalked towards her. She noticed that he didn't have his gloves on as she instinctively backed away until she hit the wall. He advanced until his face was two inches from hers.

"I didn't know you and the Batman were such _close_ _friends,_ " he drawled. "Now I'm no angel, but that was a pretty slippery move, doll. Even for me."

Her eyes widened a fraction, and she couldn't stop a disbelieving laugh from escaping her lips.

"Are- are you _jealous_?"

He cut her laughter short when he grabbed her jaw and slammed her head back against the wall. She stifled her gasp of pain, keeping her eyes on his. She noticed for the first time that his eyes were hazel, almost green. She didn't know how that had escaped her before.

"Let's just be clear, _little bird,_ " he growled. "Jealousy isn't a word I recognize. I created you. It's _that_ simple. And I don't like my _creations_ getting cozy with my mortal enemies. So tell me, what exactly is the _nature_ of your relationship with the Batman?"

She smiled a small smile, calling his bluff, and felt a warm, sensual pride unfurl inside her at his possessiveness. She shifted her jaw around in his grip so that his thumb was hovering over her lips. She parted them to draw it into her mouth, giving it a long, slow suck, and watched his pupils dilate. The sight almost made her moan.

She ran her tongue over the tip of his thumb and nipped it softly as he drew it out of her mouth, running it along her bottom lip.

"Don't worry, Joker," she said, her voice coming out husky. "I only have room for one masked man in my life."

He smirked cruelly, stepping forward to fully press his body against hers. His pupils were so dilated that she could barely see the hazel around them anymore. He dragged his thumb, still coated in her saliva, down her chin to her neck, wrapping his other four fingers around her throat. She could feel herself growing wet.

"I sure hope so," he growled, "for your sake."

She knew he was about to leave, and she didn't want to let it happen. She didn't want to lose the feeling of his body pressed up against her yet. She was craving him too much.

So before she could second-guess herself, she grabbed onto his lapel with one hand and reached the other behind his back to pull him closer.

Then she got up on the tips of her toes, her thinly covered nipples sliding firmly up his chest as she went, and crashed her lips against his.

For one beautiful moment, he relented. She teased his mouth open and slipped her tongue inside, running it against his. He tasted like salt and paint and something else she couldn't put her finger on, and she couldn't get enough. She could feel the roughness of his scars, but she didn't mind. She was sure he could feel the hammering of her pulse under his fingers on her throat.

He reciprocated for ten beats of her heart, teasing her tongue with his and pressing harder into her. She felt his free hand slide up her hip and under her shirt to her back, sending a shiver of pleasure through her.

But then he tightened his hand around her throat and slammed her head back into the wall. Hard.

Her vision blurred from the impact, but that didn't stop a lazy, victorious grin from spreading across her face. The red paint on his mouth was smeared down over his chin. _I did that,_ she thought proudly as she looked at it.

"Don't do that again," he growled menacingly. He pulled her forward a little by the throat and then slammed her back into the wall one more time before releasing her and walking away.

She let him go without protest, leaning her aching head back against the wall and catching her breath. She remained there until she heard the elevator doors close, still grinning widely. Then she skipped into the bathroom to look at her face in the mirror. Red paint was smeared all over her mouth and chin, too. She wished she could leave it there forever.

 _He let me kiss him,_ she thought giddily. _And he was jealous of me and the Batman._ She was sure now that he did care about her, that he even had feelings for her. She flopped onto her bed in her room and gazed up at the ceiling. Her high from touching him was fading as more serious thoughts began to creep in.

How was this going to end? Were they going to keep doing this forever, avoiding the subject of their feelings and only meeting for a few minutes at a time? She couldn't take that for much longer. She wanted more. It wasn't as if she was going to ask him for a full on relationship. But she wanted some intimacy, and for him to stay longer when he showed up. She wanted acknowledgment.

She needed to resolve the issue, otherwise the Joker would keep her hanging by a moment forever. She sighed at the prospect.

She ran a bath for herself and soaked in the hot water for a while, mulling over everything. She decided that she wanted to resolve all of this stuff with the Joker before picking her next suspect. She would wander the streets every night until he found her, so she could confront him.

* * *

She had been out every night for ten days, wandering the streets and waiting for the Joker, to no avail. She had suspected he might need a little time away from her after she had kissed him, but now she was getting impatient. She constantly thought about him and where he was, to the point where she couldn't focus at work. On top of just missing him, she also felt nervous about what she was going to say to him. She just wanted to get it over with.

She sat in her office, tapping her stylus on the surface of her desk as she thought about what her next move should be. _I need to do something to get his attention,_ she thought. He seemed to always have eyes on her, so it shouldn't be too hard. And then the solution dawned on her. She pulled out her phone and typed a text to Martha and Chloe.

Salomé Rowe: what are you guys doing tonight?

Chloe Horowitz: no plans so far. i got invited to some stupid costume party by a work friend, but i wasn't actually gonna go

Salomé Rowe: wait, that's actually perfect

Salomé Rowe: i was gonna ask if you wanted to go to a bar or something but a party is better

Salomé Rowe: i haven't been to a costume party in forever!

Chloe Horowitz: well i guess we can go if you guys want

Martha Fortune: sorry I'm late to the convo, but that sounds fun!

Martha Fortune: been so long since we went out together

Chloe Horowitz: predrink at Salome's? the party's not that far from there

Chloe Horowitz: and then we could walk over

Salomé Rowe: sounds good, what time?

Chloe Horowitz: get to your place around 8, get to the party around 10?

Salomé Rowe: kk!

Martha Fortune: see y'all then

 _Perfect,_ Salomé thought. The costume party would allow her to wear her Nightmoth outfit even though she was around other people. Her plan was to get drunk. Not super drunk, and she would only drink drinks she poured herself, but drunk nonetheless. She knew that would draw him out of hiding.

She checked her phone for the time. Five o'clock. She put her drawing tablet and stylus in her desk drawer and stood up, grabbing her bag and heading out the door.

"Good night, Claudia, I'm off," she said as she passed her assistant's desk.

"Night, Salomé!"

She stepped out onto the sidewalk and waved her arm to hail a cab. Once she was in the back seat, she sent Edwin a text letting him know that there was no need for him to pick her up.

She set about cleaning up her apartment when she got home, putting away the clothes that were strewn about her bedroom and tidying up the living room. Then, she started getting ready. She wanted to take her time. She was sure she would remember this night forever, and she wanted to make sure she looked as perfect for the Joker as possible.

She washed her hair and then styled it in silky waves. It had gotten quite dark as it grew out, and looked dramatic against her olive skin. She put on her best La Perla black lace bra and panty set. She knew he wouldn't see them, but they made her feel more confident. She made up her eyes in a dramatic cat-eye using liquid liner, and put on her usual lengthening mascara. She decided to forego lipstick, since she would be drinking and didn't want to have to reapply it. She sprayed some perfume on herself and donned her mask, tying the front sections of her hair behind her head to hide the elastic, as she always did.

She left off her brass knuckles, deciding they were unnecessary, but strapped her knife to her upper thigh as usual, with the Joker's card up against her skin.

Finally, she pulled on her boots.

She stared at herself in the mirror and then took a second to close her eyes and take a deep breath. _Please, please let everything go well tonight,_ she thought.

She was pouring herself a glass of wine in the kitchen when the intercom buzzed. She jogged to the elevator and pressed the speaker button.

"Yeah?"

"It's us, buzz us up," Martha's voice said through the speaker.

Salomé pressed the button to buzz them up to the penthouse and then returned to the kitchen to get her wine glass. She trotted back to the foyer when she heard the elevator doors open, and gave each of her friends a one-armed hug.

"Oh my god, your costume," Martha exclaimed. She continued when she saw Salomé's blank look. "You're dressed up as that new masked vigilante that's been all over the news, right? 'The Nightmoth'?" She used air quotes for emphasis.

Salomé felt the color drain from her face. She tried to play it cool. "Oh, yeah, totally," she said casually. Her stomach churned. _The news_ _?_ she thought in alarm.

"Genius," Martha said.

Salomé smiled graciously, but was internally trying to quell the panic growing in her stomach. _I guess I've been pretty out of touch with what's going on in the world,_ she thought to herself as she poured wine for her two friends. _I need to get my hands on some newspapers so I can catch up._

* * *

Two hours later, Salomé was feeling pleasantly buzzed as they mounted the steps to a chic townhouse in her neighborhood. The night was uncharacteristically chilly, and she had thrown on a black velvet open-front duster to shield her bare skin from the cold.

There were some costumed partygoers smoking outside, a few of which nodded approvingly at their costumes as they walked by. Martha was dressed up as Uma Thurman in _Kill Bill_ , in a yellow leather outfit with black striping and matching sneakers, while Chloe was dressed up as Wednesday Addams, wearing a black dress with a peter pan collar and her dark hair in two long braids.

They could hear the music thumping loud enough from inside that they didn't bother knocking, opting instead to just try the doorknob, which was unlocked. Inside was teeming with people, all colorfully dressed up. They pushed through the groups of people, looking for the table where all the drinks would be, but the crowd was too thick for them to see anything. Finally, Martha tapped a random guy on the shoulder.

"Drinks?" she yelled over the music.

"Over there," he yelled back, pointing towards a corner of the room.

They elbowed through to a table laden with wine, beer, and alcohol.

Salomé plucked an unopened bottle of red off the table and unscrewed the top. She wasn't taking any chances. She poured herself a considerable amount, then offered it to Martha and Chloe.

"Should we just keep this? That way we don't have to keep coming back here," she yelled to her two friends.

"Good idea," Chloe yelled back.

They continued through several rooms towards the back of the house, passing through one where the speakers were set up and people were dancing. Eventually, they reached the back door, which opened up on an outdoor patio where a few people were braving the chill. They settled down with their wine at a table with an umbrella in the middle.

"Chill here for a minute and then go dance?" Martha asked. Salomé raised her solo cup in agreement.

"So, where's your friend?" Salomé asked Chloe.

"I didn't see her," Chloe replied. "We can find her when we go back in to dance."

Salomé paced her drinking, wanting to avoid reaching her desired level of drunkenness too early. The chill eventually began to bother them, so they each poured themselves another hefty cup of wine, finishing off the bottle, and went inside to dance.

The "dancing room" had gotten more crowded while they'd been outside. They pushed through the crowd to a spot near the center. Salomé took a big gulp of wine as she moved to the music. She slid her phone from the pocket of her velvet duster to check the time. It was almost midnight. She would have to make her exit soon.

By the time she finished the wine in her cup, she had crossed the line between tipsy and drunk and needed the ladies room.

"Gotta pee, be right back," she yelled to her friends, who nodded. She elbowed her way through the crowd towards the stairs, wanting to find a bathroom away from everyone. She found the second floor bathroom, but it had a line of five people waiting. Sighing, she continued up to the third floor, swaying a little in her drunken state. She poked her head through a set of double doors, which she found led to the master bedroom. She slipped inside, knowing that there was en en-suite bathroom in probably every master bedroom in the Diamond District.

She stared at her reflection in the mirror for a second as she finished up, trying to stabilize herself and look a little less drunk before going back out.

She crept out of the master bedroom, closing the door quietly behind her, and moved down the hall towards the staircase. As she approached the banister, a door to her left opened and a gloved hand clamped over her mouth, muffling her yelp of surprise as another arm wrapped around her waist and yanked her into what looked like a guest bedroom.

She smelled the sage-y scent and relaxed as she realized who it was.

The Joker released her and she turned around, smiling, as he moved around her and further into the room. The lights were off, the only light source coming from the moonlight pouring in through the windows.

"You found me," she said happily, trying not to let her drunkenness show through but failing.

"I thought that given your, ah, _recent experience_ , you'd be past partying like an immature little girl," he said dryly, leaning back against the edge of an antique-looking desk and sliding his hands into his pockets. She let her eyes roam over him appreciatively. She ached to touch him. "But, as usual, you've surprised me," he finished sarcastically.

She smiled smugly and tilted her head as she approached him. Feeling brave thanks to the wine, she pressed the length of her body against his and draped her arms around his neck, careful not to touch his skin or hair. "Well, I had to get your attention somehow."

He raised his eyebrows at her and snorted, but didn't push her away. She was surprised when one of his hands slid up her spine to cup the back of her neck. His fingers squeezed against her throat, and she practically felt her pupils dilate as desire bloomed within her. "Well, now that I know this was all intentional, I'll leave you to it, doll." He released her neck, brushed past her and headed for the door. "Be good."

"Wait, Joker," she said. "The reason I did this is because there's something I need to say to you." He stopped a foot or so in front of the door. She waited for him to turn around, but he didn't, so she took a deep, calming breath, trying to stamp down her nerves, before pressing forward. She tried to keep her voice steady as she spoke.

"You've given me so much... so much strength, and power. Since you came into my life I've been feeling things I never thought I would, or could, feel. You helped me overcome the most traumatic event of my life. I mean, you literally _saved_ me, and since then, I've thought about you basically every waking moment of every day. When I wake up, the first thing I wonder is when I'll see you again, and that's the same thing I'm thinking right before I fall asleep at night. Every time I put on this mask and walk out of my apartment, I'm hoping I'll run into you. Every time I start to feel like what I've been doing is wrong, I think about you and everything you gave me, and it gives me new purpose."

She paused for a moment. He remained silent, facing away from her. She took another shaky breath and looked down at her hands. Her heart was thundering against her ribs. "I know who you are, and what you represent. And- and I'm not asking you for anything, really. I just want to know where we stand. And if you feel anything for me at all, I just want to be with you, in some capacity. I want to know that I haven't just been imagining what's between us in my head." She exhaled as she finished, shutting her eyes. _There, I said it,_ she thought.

Several minutes passed, but the Joker neither moved nor spoke. The suspense was killing her, but she felt hopeful that he was just fighting past his own resistance, before finally saying what she so desperately wanted to hear.

"Please, say something?" she asked.

Another few moments passed in silence.

When he finally turned towards her, she could see in the moonlight that his eyes were ice cold.

He rounded on her, circling around her like a predator until her back was facing the door again.

"I was starting to think you were different, _little bird,"_ he mocked, "but it turns out you're just as dumb as all the other little Gotham society girls."

"W-what?" she asked in a small, stunned voice.

"What part of the words ' _investment'_ and _'experiment'_ didn't you understand? What _indication_ did I ever give you that you mean anything more to me than just a passing amusement?" His voice was harsh with mocking cruelty. Salomé felt her breathing constrict as his words hit her like a fist. Tears filled her eyes.

The Joker advanced on her menacingly, backing her into the door.

"What, did you think I'd be your _boyfriend?"_ he sneered, his face right in front of hers as he pushed her body against the door with his. "Did you think we would _hold hands_ and whisper sweet nothings into each other's ears?" She pushed against his chest with her fists. Tears streamed down her face as a large, resilient rubber balloon of pain swelled up in her chest, threatening to rip her apart. She could barely breathe around it. She let a sob rip through her throat as she realized that the balloon of pain was her heart breaking.

"Get off me," she sobbed.

"Did you think you could be the _only one in the world I trusted_ , and that you could take my mask off and be my ' _rock'?"_ He laughed derisively in her ear and clamped his fingers on her jaw, forcing her to look at him as she sobbed.

"Please… please, get off…" she begged, pushing at him harder, but his chest was like granite, immovable under her hands. Her mask was filling with tears now, and they were leaking out underneath it and sliding down her cheeks.

"Let's just get something _straight,_ shall we? I _'saved'_ you because I hate rapists, _not_ because I gave a fuck about you and your precious dignity. I gave you that rapist's ID because I spotted an opportunity for chaos, _not_ because I gave a fuck about giving you ' _strength'_ or ' _power'_." Salome shifted one of her fists from his chest down to his stomach, trying to push him away. She felt something smooth and cool brush against her knuckles. "I _touched_ you because it amused me to see how easy it was to get you riled up, like some pathetic little _virgin."_ He slid his free hand up under her dress to her hip to punctuate his words. _"_ And I kept checking up on you _not_ because you mean _anything_ to me, but because I wanted to see how many murders _Gotham's little princess_ could commit before she lost her mind and turned herself into _damaged goods."_

Finally, a sharp spike of anger fired through her, mixing with the crippling pain. She fumbled in his jacket, wrapping her fist around the handle of one of his knives, and pushed hard against him with her other hand.

Then, letting out a strangled, agonized sob, she slashed the knife across his chest.

She saw the cruelty slip from his face, replaced by pure shock as he stumbled back. His shirt and waistcoat were split where the knife had sliced him, revealing a thin strip of his chest, and she could see the dark blood beginning to seep out.

"Don't ever fucking come near me again," she spat, her breathing ragged. Then she threw his knife down onto the floor and wrenched the door open, slamming it behind her.

She stumbled down the stairs as quickly as she could, silent tears streaming down her face and filling up her eyes, blinding her. She elbowed through the crowd towards the front door, pulled it open, and ran out into the cool night air, ignoring the confused looks of the partygoers around her. She paused to wipe the tears off her face with her velvet sleeve, and then headed for the nearest alleyway, ducking into it. She somehow knew that the Joker wouldn't come after her.

She leaned against the wall and let out a few sobs as she pulled her phone from her pocket to text Martha and Chloe.

Salomé Rowe: sorry guys, wasn't feeling well so I walked home

Salomé Rowe: i'm fine though! just want to sleep

Salomé Rowe: text me tomorrow, love you

She powered off her phone and put it back in her pocket.

Then she set off down the alley on weak legs, silent tears still running steadily down her face. There was only one person she wanted to see now.

And she knew just how to get a hold of him.

* * *

Don't be mad at me! I can't make things TOO easy for our favorite couple, can I? ;)

xo nightmoth


	13. Broken Hearts

Hello my loves! So glad everyone seemed to enjoy chapter 12!

Special thanks to Noorxoxo, Daydreamer003, birdie, Laxelle, guest, and floetry for reviewing! Muah, muah, muah, I love it.

So, I've kind of laid out my plan for the whole rest of this fic now, and I just want to say as a warning that it's gonna get real AU as we go on- especially the ending. Just a heads up.

This chapter is a lot of aftermath from the lil bomb I dropped last chapter. Enjoy!

 _Disclaimer: I own nothing but my OCs. The Joker and Bruce Wayne/The Batman are property of DC Comics._

* * *

 **Chapter 13**

She had been walking deliriously, blinded by the tears filling her eyes, for over an hour. She had to stop every so often and lean back against the brick walls of the alleys when the sobs overtook her, pressing her hand hard against her chest as if that would quell the staggering pain dwelling there.

Her whole body felt like it was on a rollercoaster ride it couldn't get off of. One second, she'd be convinced that all the hurtful things the Joker had said were lies; and the next, the crippling reality would crash back into her, nearly winding her with its force.

 _He doesn't love you,_ she thought. _This was all just a game to him. You stupid, naïve fucking idiot. You played right into his hands, and now you're nothing but a murderer with a broken heart._

By the time she was finally nearing her destination, she felt as though every tear had been squeezed out of her body, and a numb hollowness had settled in her. Soon she was only steps away from the Gotham City Police Department building. She paused in a nearby alley to collect herself, removing her mask and doing her best to wipe the dried mascara off her face with the sleeve of her velvet duster. She stored her mask in her pocket. Then she took a deep, steadying breath before approaching the front doors and pulling one open to slip inside.

She breathed a sigh of relief when she recognized the young officer on duty, who raised his eyebrows in surprise at the sight of her.

"Miss Rowe," he said, smiling.

She forced herself to grin warmly. "Hi, Michael," she said. "Long time no see. How've you been?"

"Doing well, doing well," he replied, grinning wider. "Surprised to see you here so late."

She leaned forward conspiratorially. "Actually, I'm sort of here on a secret mission. I need to leave something for Lieutenant Gordon, it's kind of important. But I don't feel comfortable leaving it with anyone else, no offense, and I won't be able to come in tomorrow. I happened to be in the neighborhood on my way home, so I wondering if I could just slip it under the door of his office?"

"Well, sure, I don't see why not."

"Thanks so much. Hey, would it be okay with you if I borrowed an extra badge to let myself out the back door? It'll be a shorter walk to my car that way," she added, chuckling ruefully. "I can send my assistant back with the badge first thing in the morning."

"Anyone else, no way in hell. But since it's you, shouldn't be a problem," he said, reaching under the desk for an extra badge and handing it over to her. He chuckled as he continued, "And even if it is, all you'd have to do is tell your dad."

She gave him the most dazzling smile she could manage under the circumstances. "Thanks, Mike, you're the best," she said, waving as she headed back towards Gordon's office.

She took a detour towards the stairs, mounting them all the way to the roof. Then she badged out of the roof door and slipped into the cool night air. Her eyes immediately landed on the enormous searchlight affixed to the surface of the roof. She approached it and grabbed the handle of the switch with both hands, yanking it upwards to turn it on. The Batman's symbol lit up in the sky.

 _Now, we wait,_ she thought to herself.

She pulled her mask back out of her pocket and fixed it onto her face. She approached the edge of the building, looking out at the bright lights and the anonymous, teeming activity of the city. The hollowness that she had been feeling for the last half hour or so was beginning to be replaced by a deep, stunningly heavy sadness. It was a feeling quite similar to grief. She suddenly felt very tired.

She wondered where the Joker was now, and what he was feeling. She wondered if he was even thinking of her at all. Her eyes began to moisten again, and she raised them towards the sky, trying to keep the tears at bay.

 _Where do I even go from here?_ she asked herself. _This whole time, what gave me my purpose in being the Nightmoth was the knowledge that the Joker had saved me and given me this gift. Where am I left without that?_

She thought of how he had said he'd done all this just to make her destroy herself. Just to make her drive herself mad. And he had almost succeeded. She shuddered at the thought of how close she had come to completely losing her humanity each time she'd unleashed her rage on someone. It had seemed a worthy risk when she had thought she was using what the Joker had given her to help people. When she'd thought the Joker cared.

 _But the last time, with McMahon, the Joker wasn't even the one who was there to absorb the backlash, like he had with Larry Perkins. It was the Batman._

Her cheeks burned with humiliation at how pathetic she felt. She felt even more grateful to the Batman for reminding her of her goodness, with the knowledge she now had. She couldn't wait for him to get here. She needed him to remind her again, and she needed someone to talk to.

By the time the Batman arrived, she was almost completely out of strength.

She was still standing at the edge of the roof, looking out over the city, but she could feel him before she heard or saw him. She turned her head to the side to acknowledge that she knew he was there.

"What happened?" he growled suspiciously. "Where's Lieutenant Gordon?"

"I know who you are," she said, her back to him, head still turned to the side. Her voice was full of the weariness she felt in every bone of her body.

"What are you talking about?"

She sighed, turning to face him. She hooked the fingers of one hand under the bottom edge of her mask and pulled it off over her head, just as she had done in the Joker's car after she'd killed Larry Perkins.

She heard the Batman's sharp intake of breath. He took a step back in shock as his eyes widened with recognition.

"I know who you are," she repeated.

* * *

The Joker kicked open the door to the warehouse and stormed inside, ignoring the disbelieving stares of his lackeys as they spotted the seeping gash on his chest. They stepped to the side for him as he strode angrily across the wide-open common area towards the stairs.

One of his goons stepped out in front of him and spoke. "Boss, what happened-"

The Joker pulled his gun, shot him without hesitation, and kept walking. He mounted the stairs two at a time and stormed towards the heavy bulletproof door of his suite, yanking it open and slamming it behind him with enough force to make the sound echo throughout the entire building. He stood still in his office for a moment, breathing heavily and trying to contain the fury that was building inside him. But he couldn't.

He surged forward and overturned his desk with a snarl. He picked up his desk chair, lifted it over his head, and hurled it at the wall. He grabbed the papers that had fallen onto the floor and ripped them up. He ripped the map off the wall and knocked the bookcase over with an angry swipe of his arm.

He moved into his bedroom, ripping his jacket off and unbuttoning the cuffs of his shirt as he went. Then he tossed his jacket onto the bed and sat down on the edge, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees as he panted. He could feel the wet spot on his shirt growing larger as more blood seeped out of his chest. He stood and unbuttoned his waistcoat and shirt, discarding them on the floor. Then he crossed into the bathroom to examine the little bird's damage in the mirror. The cut was deep and spanned a good eight inches across the left side of his chest, but it was still just a flesh wound.

He'd known it couldn't have lasted. He'd known only so much time could pass before she would want more from him, and he'd been prepared from the beginning to deliver the emotional deathblow he'd just given her, when the time came. But he hadn't been prepared for how difficult it would be for him to deliver it.

He'd forced himself to believe that his words weren't as bad as they seemed as he was saying them. That he could just go back on them if he wanted to- they were _lies_ , after all. But he knew that Salomé would never raise a weapon to someone she loved. So when she had cut him, when she had used a weapon against him even though they both knew how completely devoted she was to him, he'd realized with stunning horror that he had crossed a line he could never come back from. He'd known at that moment that he had completely broken her, and things would never be the same between them. She wouldn't be _his_ anymore, and that realization hit him like a freight train.

He'd been confused at the sensation engulfing him at first, not recognizing it, but then he'd realized what it was: loss. He chuckled bitterly at the dark irony that at that exact moment, when she offered all of herself to him and he threw it cruelly back in her face, he'd finally admitted to himself that he _wanted_ her to keep being his.

 _The only person who's ever seen an even remotely human side of you,_ he thought darkly to himself. _The only person who's ever shown no fear of you. Chose you even though she could have anyone. Gone._

He pulled his glove off and pressed his fingers into the gash she'd given him, welcoming the searing pain. He wouldn't patch it up, or sew it, or disinfect it. He wanted it to form a scar. He wanted to keep it forever.

It was all he had left of her.

* * *

Salomé sat in the passenger seat of the Batmobile as they sped through the city back towards Wayne Manor. She leaned her head against the door, gazing up through the tiny window at the buildings zipping past. The pain had subsided for now, replaced by a completely numb and lifeless feeling, but she knew it would come back.

"How did you find out?" the Batman asked. She noticed that his voice wasn't the growl it usually was. Bruce's voice was coming out of his mouth now.

"I was watching the Manor from the woods," she said hoarsely, not lifting her head from its position against the door. "I wanted to make sure you weren't taking advantage of any of the girls you sleep with. And then I saw the Batmobile come down the driveway."

"I don't actually sleep with them, you know," he said. "It's just part of my cover."

"Hmm," she acknowledged quietly. Several moments passed in silence as they drove across the city border. Salomé let herself get lost in her thoughts, which couldn't help but return to the Joker and the hurtful things he'd said. No, hurtful wasn't the right word. They were devastating. She felt thankful that right now, in this numb lull between spikes of agony, those devastating words felt like they'd happened to someone else.

Finally, they pulled up the Manor's long, gravel driveway. Bruce idled the Batmobile in front of the steps leading to the door.

"Get out here and ring the doorbell. I'll wait till Alfred opens the door before driving off so he'll see why you're here."

She nodded silently before opening the door and stepping out, her mask in her hand. She mounted the many steps to the front door and rang the doorbell. A long moment passed before she heard the lock turn, and then the large wooden door swung open to reveal a bemused looking Alfred.

He glanced from her to the Batmobile behind her, and then beckoned her inside. She heard Bruce zoom around the side of the Manor as the door closed.

"Miss Rowe," he greeted in his genial British accent, "A strange circumstance in which to see you again after so long, but it's good to see you nonetheless."

"Likewise, Alfred," she replied with a tired smile.

Alfred led her into the huge first-floor parlor and set about lighting a fire in the enormous fireplace. She smiled softly at the memories of coming here for parties as she was growing up. It was the complete opposite of the sterile bachelor pad Bruce occupied in the city. Wayne Manor had such an antique feel, with the fireplaces in every room and the wood paneling. Large, worn Persian rugs spread across the parlor floor and a long, dimpled brown leather sofa sat a few yards away from the fireplace.

The room was also lined with bookshelves and had a huge wooden table, as well as several cushy leather chairs to sit in. As she passed by the table, she paused when she saw some newspapers there. The front page of the first one read in big letters:

"GOTHAM'S NEW VIGILANTE!"

She flipped to the next one:

"WHO IS THE NIGHTMOTH?"

And the next one:

"THE NIGHTMOTH: RUTHLESS HERO OR BLOODTHIRSTY MURDERER?"

She sighed, shaking her head as she put the newspapers back and moved away from the table. She idled in front of one of the bookshelves, reading the titles on the spines of the books and noting that there were several first editions there.

"Mr. Wayne will be with you in just a few moments, I'm sure. Is there anything I can get you in the meantime?"

"I'm good, Alfred, thank you," she said, smiling warmly.

"I'll leave you to it, then. Give a shout if you change your mind."

"Will do."

He nodded his head before exiting the room. Salomé drifted towards the soothing heat of the fireplace, where a hearty and boisterous fire was now alight. She pulled her boots off, setting them neatly near the couch, and then settled cross-legged on the carpet in front of the fireplace. She sat with her eyes closed, the scorching heat from the fire almost painful on her face, but she liked it. She was sure she was a mess- her hair falling around her face and black tear tracks all over her cheeks, but she didn't care.

Eventually she heard footfalls coming across the floor, and she turned to see Bruce approaching the fireplace. He wasn't in his Batman gear anymore, having changed into a white crewneck T-shirt and a pair of classic Adidas track pants with white striping down the sides. _He looks so… normal,_ she thought. It was amazing how different he looked to her without his customary smugness and swagger. Here, like this, his face looked relaxed and serious and even more handsome than usual. She realized as she took in his casual wear that it had been years since she'd seen him in anything but a suit- probably since they were in their teens.

He settled next to her on the floor, mirroring her cross-legged position, and she shifted to face him.

"As you can imagine, I have some questions to ask you," he said. She nodded. "Okay," he continued. "I'm going to start with the most important one. What's your relationship to the Joker?"

"Nothing anymore," she said quietly, looking down.

"Salomé, I need you to give me more of an answer than that."

She sighed, wondering how to explain the events of the last several months. When she spoke, her voice was hoarse and quiet.

"Back in the spring, not that long after your party, I went clubbing with Martha and Chloe." She paused and let out a humorless chuckle. "It's funny because I actually hate clubbing. But I just felt like it that night, for whatever reason. Anyway, we went to Le Disco, and we started taking tequila shots." She kept her eyes on the point where Bruce's calves crossed each other as she spoke, her hands folded in her lap. "I was kind of drunk, but not fully wasted or anything. I met this guy at the bar, and he offered to buy me a drink. He said he was the manager and promoter for the club, and I hadn't been with anyone in a while so I figured, what the hell. We took shots, and then I started feeling weird." She took a shaky breath and swallowed. "I felt really hot and completely wasted all of a sudden, like I was about to be sick. He took me out into the alleyway behind the club to get some air. That's where things get fuzzy."

She glanced up at Bruce, whose jaw was clenched in anger as he started to see where the story was going. "I remember cold brick against my back, and him kneeling in front of me, looking up at me all excited while he pulled my underwear down my legs. And then I remember pain on the back of my head from it smacking against the wall when he lifted me up." She paused to take another breath, mentally retreating into the memory. Bruce continued to listen in silence. "And the last thing I remember was just this-" she reflexively pressed her palm into her chest at the memory- "this overwhelming wave of panic at the moment he pushed himself into me. And then there was just darkness." She slid her fingers over her eyelids, shielding them from view as she felt more tears prickling there. They slipped out from under her lashes and slid down her cheeks. She realized that this was the first time she was saying all of this out loud.

She removed her hands from her eyes when she felt a warm, dry hand on each of her knees. Bruce was leaning forward and looking intently into her eyes. "I'm so fucking sorry," he said seriously. "I know we've never been close, but we still grew up together. It really hurts me to think of something like that happening to you." She gave him a weak, appreciative smile.

Her voice trembled as she continued. "The next morning when I woke up I was in the hospital. I couldn't remember how I got there, but the nurse said that someone had called 911 for me and told the dispatcher that I'd been assaulted. When I got home later that day, I found a joker playing card from a deck and my rapist's driver's license wedged up between my phone and phone case."

Bruce's eyes widened a little. "The Joker," he said.

Salomé nodded. "He intervened, called 911 and then left me Liam's ID as a challenge. He wanted me to get revenge, which I couldn't do at first. For the first few months I was just paralyzed. I couldn't even leave my apartment. But after a while, I started to feel these terrifying waves of anger. And then, on the day I was supposed to be going back to work, I randomly saw Liam in a bar. The rest, you already know." Bruce nodded. "After I dealt with Liam, I felt different. It was like this whole new side of me woke up. I felt strong and powerful and… _dark._ And that was when the Joker found me again. He'd been watching me. He's still been watching me, and kind of popping up whenever he wants. He always seems to know where I am, and he even got the spare key fob to my apartment so he could literally check in on me any time."

Confusion and horror washed over Bruce's face. "Why didn't you just tell me he'd been stalking you the first time I asked? Why didn't you call the police?"

Salomé shook her head. "No, you don't understand. He's not _stalking_ me." She gave him a meaningful look, and watched as realization filled his eyes.

"You have feelings for him." His voice had an accusatory edge.

She nodded sadly.

"You do realize he's a mass murderer right? He's a monster with no empathy."

"He saved me." She paused, taking in Bruce's disbelieving expression. "And he wasn't like that with me. He was…. I don't know. Different. I thought he cared about me."

There was a long beat of silence. Bruce seemed to be trying to process everything she'd just told him. He took a slow breath. His face was still a bit stony when he spoke, but the accusatory edge had vanished from his voice.

"What happened to you tonight?" he asked haltingly.

Salomé took a deep breath, trying to still the waterfall of tears that was threatening to burst through.

"Like I said, he saved me. He gave me back my life. I know that sounds melodramatic, but it's true. And I thought he cared about me. I needed to know where we stood, so tonight I told him how I felt." The tears came full force now, and her voice broke. "He told me it was all just an experiment to see if he could make _Gotham's little golden girl_ completely lose it. He wanted me to turn myself into 'damaged goods'. Those were the words he used." She pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes and finally let herself sob. "I know you must think I'm so stupid and naïve, and you probably think I'm insane for being able to love someone like him," she choked out between sobs.

She heard Bruce stand and pad away from her, but she didn't look up. _He's probably going to tell Alfred to get me out of here,_ she thought. She kept her head resting on her palms as she waited for Alfred to come get her.

A few moments later, she heard footsteps coming towards her and the sound of someone crouching down in front of her. She moved her hands away from her eyes and was surprised to see Bruce sitting back in his spot across from her. He had a bowl of water sitting next to him on the carpet and a napkin in his hand.

She gave him a watery smile. "I thought you were getting me carted out of here," she said, sniffing. "I know what I'm saying is totally batshit."

He snorted. "I'm the Batman, Salomé. It takes a little more than some love confession to weird me out." Salomé laughed, in spite of herself.

Bruce moved the bowl of water in front of him and dipped the napkin into it. Then he gently held her chin between the thumb and forefinger of one hand as he raised the napkin to her face. Her lips parted slightly in surprise, and she kept her gaze on his, her eyes wide. He swiped the damp napkin down her cheek, wiping off the black tear tracks from her mascara and eyeliner. The water was warm.

"I'm sorry that happened to you," he said quietly. "I'm sorry you had to fall for someone so cruel. The Joker is a monster and I don't get the attraction, but I get how you could fall in love with someone who saved you and helped you get through such a fucked up experience," he paused before his next words, "and I know how it feels to love someone who doesn't want to be with you."

"Thank you," she murmured. She remained silent for a few seconds as he continued to gently wipe the black marks off her face. "Who do you love?" she finally asked. Bruce held her gaze a moment and sighed.

"Rachel Dawes."

"The ADA?" she asked confusedly. He nodded. "Harvey Dent's girlfriend?" She knew Rachel because she worked with her father. "How do you guys even know each other?"

"We grew up together. Her mom worked for my parents." She noticed that he wasn't looking her in the eyes anymore. His gaze moved around her face, and seemed to rest on the tip of her nose or her mouth.

"Does she know about you?"

"Yeah. She's one of only a few people. Her, Alfred, Lucius… and now, you," he finished, his eyes finally locking back with hers. She was sure her face was clean by now, but he didn't stop moving the napkin gently over her skin, and she didn't stop him either. She liked the way it felt- it soothed her.

"So why can't you be with her?"

Again, his eyes dropped to her mouth, avoiding her gaze.

"She doesn't want to be with the Batman."

Salomé sighed and gave him a sad smile. "Who would've thought we'd be so similar?" she asked quietly.

"I did," he said, finally lowering his hands from her face. She raised her eyebrows questioningly at him, imploring him to continue. "I always liked you, Salomé. The fact that you were so repelled by the front I put up… I don't know. It impressed me, I guess. I always thought it was kind of funny, in a sad way. We probably would've been close if I could've shown you who I really am." He paused, looking thoughtful. "I wish we _had_ been close, so that I could've been there for you when all this shit went down," he added, almost as an afterthought.

"It's too bad, 'cause my mom has been pushing for me to marry you for, like, the past five years," she joked.

He chuckled. "Well, it's never too late to start being friends."

She smiled her first genuine smile of the night. "No, it isn't."

He sighed. "Look, it's up to you, but I think you should stay here, at least until you can get the penthouse badge in your elevator changed."

"No, I couldn't impose on you like that," she said, shaking her head vehemently.

He waved his hand dismissively. "Please. It's not an issue. It'll actually be nice to have some company around here for a few days."

* * *

The Joker sat in the chair in his office, with his fingertips steepled in front of his face. He was thinking about his next steps, now that the little bird was really out of his life.

He had intended to leave her alone for good, but after three days he'd needed to see her again- just see her, not even necessarily talk. So he'd snuck into the garage of her building like he always did, intending to watch her as she slept, and badged into the elevator.

It didn't work. He'd touched the key fob to the sensor again, but still, nothing.

She'd changed the badge.

That was three days ago. He'd had one of his goons watching the building nonstop since then, wanting to know what she was up to. But she hadn't been spotted there at all, and she hadn't been out as the Nightmoth either. She was hiding from him.

He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. _Better this way,_ he thought to himself. _Now we can get on with our plans for Gotham and the Batman. She was veering us off course._ Yes, it was time he put his plans back in motion. He had promised Gotham death if the Batman didn't reveal himself, and the Batman was still unidentified. He stared at his thumb and forefinger, which were covered in the white grease paint from his nose. He felt a little more like his old self as he thought about putting his murderous plans back in motion, and a small, cruel smile played on his lips.

 _I'm a man of my word,_ he thought.

* * *

Hope you liked it! Next chapter coming soon :)

xo nightmoth


	14. Power Couple

Ahhh, you guys, I'm SO sorry for the delay in posting this chapter! One of my colleagues has been on vacation and I've had to pick up a lot of slack at work, so I've had less time to write. I also had a bit of writer's block for this chapter, so I'm sorry in advance if it's not up to the same standard as the rest. =/ I'm kind of on a roll again though, so I'm going to try and post another chapter tomorrow or the day after to make it up to you.

Shoutout to Laxelle, Floetry, birdie, Parfois, and FutureOlympian! Thank you SO much for the reviews. I know I say this every time but they mean a lot to me and keep me going on this story. You guys are angels.

So I know we're at a bit of a Joker-Salomé lull in the story right now, but don't worry, I'm cooking something up. ;) Things will heat up again soonish.

Anyway, here's Chapter 14, I hope you guys like it!

 _Disclaimer: I own nothing but my OCs. The Joker and Bruce Wayne/Batman belong to DC Comics._

* * *

 **Chapter 14**

It had been a week and a half since the Joker had broken her heart.

Her elevator fob had been changed only a day or two after that night, but she was still staying with Bruce anyway. She didn't feel like she could be in her apartment, with memories of the Joker around every corner and her rack of Nightmoth dresses in her closet. It just hurt too much.

And on top of that, she didn't want to be alone. She _couldn't_ be. When she was, she drew into herself and started thinking about everything- everything from the moment she met the Joker to now, all of the memories of him touching her, speaking to her. The memories of his smooth neck and sage-y scent, and his dry, warm hands, and once she started thinking about those things, she would feel the crushing weight of the pain pressing in on her chest, and then the sobs would come, and she would completely fall apart.

And the nights were the worst. The first night she was at Bruce's, she didn't sleep. He gave her a huge, beautiful room with a giant four-poster bed and a fireplace and vaulted ceilings, but she hadn't even disturbed the covers. She'd sat in the window seat overlooking the back of Wayne Manor, with its manmade ponds and fountains, and cried until sunrise.

She had tried to sleep the second night, and had succeeded for a couple hours. But then the Joker began to fill up her dreams, spitting out his hurtful words of rejection in an echoing, cruel voice, and she had woken up sobbing. She had wandered deliriously from her room down the hall to Bruce's room and crawled into his bed next to him, curling her fingers into the back of his soft T-shirt as she pressed her tear-sodden face into his back. And then she was able to sleep.

Every night since that night had been the same: she would sleep fitfully in her own room only to wake up in the small hours of the morning with tears streaming down her face. Then she would sneak into Bruce's room and curl up next to him. Sometimes he didn't even stir, and she would press against his back, like she had the first night. Others he would be awake, having just gotten home from some Batman excursion, and he would wrap a strong, comforting arm around her as they both drifted into sleep. They never spoke about it in the mornings when they'd wake up curled around each other, or with her small hand wrapped in his huge one. It was just their _thing_ , their quiet little tradition. And it was the only way she could sleep.

They had settled into a quiet routine together. She'd collected some of her clothes from her apartment while the key fob in the elevator was being replaced, and had driven the Audi back to the Manor so she could get to and from the office. Each morning after they woke up in Bruce's bed, they would eat breakfast in the kitchen together at the huge, scrubbed wooden table. Then, she would head back up to her own room, get dressed, slip in behind the wheel of the Audi, and drive to work. They would eat dinner together in the dining room in the evenings, and then just sit around and talk, or Bruce would read while Salomé illustrated on her drawing tablet in front of the fireplace.

She hadn't put on her Nightmoth getup since the night she'd seen the Joker. Sure, she had been tempted a few times. She had approached the dark corner in the closet where she had hung her slip dress up and reached out to touch the soft, silky fabric. But she couldn't bring herself to pull it off the hanger. She didn't know if she ever would again, even though Bruce had been pestering her about it.

"You don't have to associate that identity with him, you know. You could just join me. Do clean work, help the police. We could get real work done if we teamed up," he'd said over dinner the night before. "You have too much power to just give it all up and let him win." But she'd only sighed. She didn't want to work with the police. That wasn't who the Nightmoth was. The Nightmoth was a rogue who worked alone, and she wasn't sure she was willing to give that up.

She thought about his words as she sat curled up on the couch in her office. _I just feel like I don't know anything right now,_ she thought, sighing. _But I can't keep hiding from my life at Bruce's house._ An unpleasant squirm of anxiety shot through her at the thought of going back to her apartment, but she had to. She had to try to move forward. She picked up her phone and called Bruce. He answered on the third ring.

"Hey, what's up?"

"Hey," she replied.

"What are you thinking for dinner?"

"Actually, I was thinking… it's probably time for me to go home," she said sheepishly.

"Why?"

"I just feel like I'm living in a weird bubble at the Manor with you, and I need to face my apartment eventually, so I might as well get it over with," she sighed.

"You don't have to do this yet," he said seriously. "I like having you around, and it's only been like a week. It's okay to need more time."

"I know. I like being there with you, I just… I need to move on with my life. I could use your help settling back in, though, if you're free."

Bruce sighed audibly. "I'll meet you at 6:30 at your place." She heard a click as he hung up.

* * *

Salomé stood frozen to the spot in the foyer next to her little pile of belongings from the Manor. She willed herself to step further into her apartment, but she felt rooted to the spot. Bruce stood next to her, and she could just see him studying her out of the corner of her eye.

She had felt confident about coming back when she was thinking in hypotheticals on her office couch. But now that she was actually here, she felt terrified of what she would feel if she stepped forward into the other rooms, and even worse- if she was alone here.

"Salomé?" Bruce prompted quietly.

"Could you stay here with me tonight?" she asked in a small, strangled voice.

He sighed. "Yeah." He grabbed her by the shoulders and turned her to face him. "I'm going back to the manor to get some stuff, and then I'm getting us some food. I'll be back in an hour and a half, and I want you to be unpacked and settled in by the time I get here."

She took a breath and nodded silently as he released her and stepped into the elevator, giving her a pointed look before the doors closed.

She exhaled and looked around the foyer. She stepped slowly forward, putting one foot in front of the other until she was in the living room. She gazed at the couch, and then the opposing wall, where she had kissed the Joker the last time he was here. A sharp pain stabbed through her chest at the memory.

She continued into the bathroom, suddenly craving a scalding hot shower. She pulled her black Chelsea boots off and stepped onto the cool marble, approaching the shower briskly and flicking the water onto the hottest setting.

As she waited for the water to heat, she couldn't help but let her gaze wander to the tub. Her feet carried her there of their own volition, and soon she was standing next to it, gazing down into the empty basin. The thought back to when the Joker ran his fingertips down the side of her neck as she lay in the bath, and touched her wet hair as he pulled away. She let a tear slip down her cheek as she ran her fingertips over the lip of the tub.

"I miss you," she whispered.

Then she marched back to the shower, pulling off her baggy sweater and tight blue jeans as she went, and shut herself into the shower stall to hide in the steam.

She wanted the water to burn away her pain.

* * *

She sat on the couch in the living room, leaning her head back to study the ceiling and cradling a glass of whiskey in her lap. Bruce still hadn't gotten back yet, and she had felt overwhelmed by the memories in her apartment after her shower.

So she'd poured herself a drink. And then another drink.

She was just on the cusp of drunkenness when the elevator doors finally dinged open. Her heart jumped instinctively at the thought that it might be the Joker, but then she remembered that he couldn't get in here anymore, and she couldn't help the pang of disappointment she felt when Bruce's significant figure appeared in the doorway.

"Heyyyyy," she greeted tipsily. "Have a drink with me!" She jumped up and skipped to the cabinet with her carafes of liquor and crystal glasses, pouring him a whiskey before he could respond. He cocked an eyebrow at her and sighed, but settled on the couch with her anyway and accepted the drink.

He gestured to the large brown paper bag he'd set on the coffee table, from which the tantalizing smells of Chinese food were wafting. "We should eat before it gets cold. I got a bunch of different stuff because I don't know what Chinese food you like."

"Did you get noodles?" she asked hopefully.

"Yeah, there's some lo mein in there," he chuckled.

She ripped the paper open and peeked into the various cartons until she found the noodles, and settled back into the couch, eating happily in her drunken state.

"So listen," Bruce began, "that party I invited you and your fam to is in a few days. You know, the fundraiser I'm throwing for Harvey Dent?"

She nodded, her mouth full of noodles.

"I noticed that your parents RSVP'ed for just themselves, but not you. I really want you to come."

She swallowed her mouthful of food and sighed, turning to face him. They sat right next to each other, their thighs brushing together, his arm draped behind her along the back of the couch. "Bruce, you know I suck at those events-"

"I know, but you have to grow out of that sometime. And we're friends now, it'll be better. Martha and Chloe will be there, too. And besides... I can't show up to my own party without a date."

She snorted. "Please, Bruce, you could take literally any girl on the planet. Ask Martha. She's been waiting for you to do that since we were fourteen. And if we show up to that party together, everyone's going to think we're a thing."

"I'm not asking Martha, I'm asking you. And look, people are going to start noticing we're spending time together anyway. We might as well own it. It might even be helpful to us if they think we're together. It'll add to both of our covers."

She sighed and remained quiet for a long moment before responding. "Okay. Fine."

* * *

The Joker leaned forward and rested the palms of his hands on the large table, directing a hard, scanning gaze at his goons. His gaze darkened even further as he thought back to the headline he'd read in the newspaper that morning:

"GOTHAM'S NEW POWER COUPLE?"

The headline was complete with several photos of his little bird and Bruce Wayne leaving her apartment and getting into a car together the morning before. He couldn't help the sickening wave of pain, anger, and jealousy that had crashed over him when he'd seen those pictures. _So, she's done hiding,_ he thought.

That was when his plans had finally come to a concrete form in his head. People were going to start dying in Gotham this weekend. He was going show them all what real chaos was, and in the process, he was going to show his little bird what he was really made of. He knew that she wouldn't be able to resist putting that Nightmoth mask back on and coming back out of hiding completely once he started really wreaking havoc. And what better place to do so than at her new _boyfriend's_ party?

"Time to break out your monkey suits, boys," he drawled. "We're going to a party this weekend."

* * *

Salomé examined her reflection in the full-length mirror in her bedroom at the Manor, and couldn't help but smile. _Wow,_ she thought, _I really look amazing._

She wore a sheer black beaded Givenchy long-sleeved gown with a black and red feather appliqué train. Bruce had hired a makeup artist for her, who had done her face up in a mostly natural, glowing look- save for her eyes, which sported long yet delicate false lashes and some striking shadow.

She had swept her hair loosely back from her face, where it hung in effortlessly glossy waves down her back. She stepped towards the bed to pull her phone out of the little beaded Judith Leiber clutch that matched her dress. She had two texts: one from Martha, and one from Chloe.

Martha Fortune: so are you going to address the fact that all the papers are saying you and Bruce are a thing, or are we not all best friends anymore?

Chloe Horowitz: seriously. you have major explaining to do.

Salomé sighed. She hated lying to her best friends, but she was going to have to make something up.

Salomé Rowe: i'll tell you guys everything tonight! can't wait to see you both :)

She slipped her phone back into her clutch as she heard the door open, and looked up to see Bruce staring at her appreciatively.

"You look absolutely gorgeous," he said. She grinned and joined him in the doorway, linking her arm through his when he offered it to her. "Ready to make our _grand entrance_?" he asked mockingly.

"Is this really necessary?" she asked, referring to the helicopter that was going to take them to the party.

" _You_ might be enlightened about who I really am, but the rest of Gotham needs to keep thinking I'm a spoiled rich asshole, so yes," he replied, leading her down the stairs and to the back door of the mansion, where the helicopter was waiting.

Salomé rolled her eyes. "Let's just get this over with," she said as she climbed into the helicopter and carefully pulled a headset on.

The trip into the city was quick, and soon they were touching down on the helipad attached to Bruce's penthouse. Salomé felt butterflies fluttering in her stomach. On top of her general anxiety about social events, this would be her and Bruce's first official appearance together. She was sure that there were paparazzi waiting outside to snap their picture as they entered the party. She took a deep breath to steady her nerves.

Bruce squeezed her hand reassuringly. "You ready?"

She nodded.

He paused, cupping her cheek with his warm, dry hand. "I'm glad to be here with you," he said softly. And then he leaned in and placed a soft kiss on her lips. His lips were smooth.

He gave her hand one final squeeze before rearranging his face into a smug smirk and opening the helicopter door.

He stepped out onto the helipad and turned back, offering his hand to her. Immediately, the blinding flashes of the paparazzi cameras filled her vision. She lifted the feathered hem of her dress gracefully and stepped down from the helicopter, using his hand for balance, and smiled adoringly at him for the cameras as he slid his arm around her waist, anchoring his hand at her hipbone. As he guided her towards the open glass doors where the guests applauded their arrival, the paparazzi backing away from them with their cameras raised as they walked, she realized that she didn't actually have to try that hard to act like she adored Bruce. She really _did_ adore him. Not the same way that she loved the Joker, of course, but still… she liked the way she felt around him. He made her feel wanted in a totally uncomplicated way, and she couldn't help but love him in some measure for that.

When they were finally inside the penthouse, surrounded by Bruce's guests, he grabbed two glasses of champagne off a nearby tray and handed one to her.

"I'm sorry we're late, I'm glad to see you all got started without us. I'd like to start out by introducing someone who really needs no introduction. You already know her as Gotham's golden girl, an intelligent, successful businesswoman, and a caring human being with a warm heart. But tonight, I want to introduce her as someone who means a great deal to me- someone who has shown me what it means to truly be with another person." She looked up at him in surprise. He was smiling genuinely down at her, and she realized that he wasn't just saying these things for publicity. She felt warmth spreading in her chest as she smiled back up at him. His cocky grin returned to his face when he looked back out to the crowd. "I'm happy to say that Bruce Wayne is finally off the market thanks to her. Ladies and gentlemen, Miss Salomé Rowe." She bowed her head in gratitude as the guests clapped.

"Now, where is Harvey Dent…" as Bruce dove into a toast to Harvey, Salomé scanned the crowded room. She picked Martha and Chloe out of the crowd, both of whom smiled and waved at her. She gave them a meaningful smile back and continued scanning until her eyes landed on her parents. She smiled even more broadly at them, and her mother returned her smile with an approving one of her own. "… To Harvey," Bruce finished, raising his glass.

"To Harvey," the guests echoed. The music swelled and the guests began to mingle again. She felt Bruce's hand on the small of her back.

"Not so bad, right?" he murmured in her ear.

"Well, we only just got here," she said. "But no, so far it isn't," she finished, smiling broadly up at him. She spotted her mother making a beeline towards them. "Ah, I spoke too soon," she groaned.

"You two _do_ make a stunning couple," Jeanne said as she approached them, giving Salomé a peck on the cheek. "And I _don't_ hate to say I told you so!"

"Oh, mom, give it a rest," Salomé said, rolling her eyes.

"Bruce, I hope you know what you're in for with my darling daughter here," Jeanne teased, patting Salomé's hand. "She can be quite a handful."

"Oh, believe me, Mrs. Rowe, I do," Bruce laughed smoothly. "Don't worry, I'm sure I can handle it."

Salomé sighed. "While you guys plan the wedding, I'm gonna go find Martha and Chloe," she said, smiling a bright, fake smile and raising her glass to them before turning away to scan the room. She spotted her two friends near the center of the room and made her way towards them, greeting people politely as she went.

"Okay, so explain," Martha barked in greeting.

"Hello to you, too, bitch," Salomé retorted. Both Martha and Chloe stared at her expectantly with their arms crossed over their chests. Salomé sighed. "Okay, so I was wrong about Bruce, he's actually really cool."

"How did you even figure that out, though?" Chloe asked accusingly.

"We uh, ran into each other while I was getting coffee a few weeks ago," she lied. "And I guess we got to talking. And since then we've been hanging out a lot."

"Why didn't you just tell us, you psycho?" Martha laughed.

"I was embarrassed! I mean, I talked so much shit about him, I felt like such a hypocrite."

"Well, go get him," Martha urged. "I want to chat him up and see if he has any hot friends to introduce us to, now that my dreams of bagging him have officially died."

Salomé laughed and rolled her eyes. "Fine," she said, turning to look for him in the crowd. "I'll be right back, I'm gonna go find him." She moved through the crowd towards the other end of the room, craning her head to look for his tall, substantial form, but couldn't spot him in the crowd. _Where is he?_ she wondered.

"Salomé," a voice called behind her. She turned to find a familiar slim, pretty brunette walking towards her.

"Rachel," Salomé said warmly, stepping forward to give her a hug. "Great to see you!"

"You too! You look beautiful," Rachel said. "Look, I just wanted to tell you I'm really happy for you and Bruce," she said, squeezing Salomé's hand.

"Rachel-"

"I'm sure you know me and him have a history, but I really mean it when I say that I'm happy for you guys. He's never made an official debut of a relationship like this before, so you must be really important to him. But, I just want to give you some advice: be careful with him. He's got a lot of secrets, and you need to be prepared-"

"Rachel, I know," Salomé said in a low voice, pulling Rachel aside. "I know everything."

Rachel was stunned into silence for a long moment. _"How?"_ she exclaimed.

Salomé was opening her mouth to tell Rachel everything, when Harvey Dent appeared at Rachel's shoulder. "Harvey," Salomé greeted, stepping forward to give him a hug. "Congratulations, this party is a huge success!"

"Hey, Salomé, thanks," Harvey said genially, squeezing her arm. "And congrats to you and Bruce, though I honestly don't see the compatibility there."

Salomé laughed. "He's not as much of a dickhead as he seems," she said, inciting a laugh from Rachel as swell. Just then, she felt a huge, vice-like hand wrap around her upper arm, and then she and Harvey were being hauled away from a stunned Rachel.

"They're coming," Bruce's low, distressed voice growled.

"Stay hidden," he barked at Harvey as he stuffed him into a closet and locked the door.

"What the fuck is going on?" Salomé demanded.

"The Joker is coming for Harvey, and you need to get out of sight," he growled, pulling her through the various rooms of the penthouse until they reached his bedroom, where a drunken couple was getting hot and heavy on his bed. He opened a hidden compartment in the wall and pulled her inside what appeared to be a completely secret pair of rooms. He led her into the larger one, which had a control panel paired with several plasma TV screens displaying the security camera feed of the entire penthouse.

She gasped sharply and clapped a hand over her mouth as she saw the familiar painted face of the Joker, with several of his goons, moving through the terrified party crowd on the screen. Her chest tightened painfully at the sight of him.

Bruce shoved her down into the control panel chair and then disappeared into the other room. He reappeared a moment later, as Batman.

"Stay put," he growled. Then he disappeared through the door, and she could hear the hidden entrance close behind him, but she couldn't take her eyes off the screen. She scanned the controls and fiddled around until she found the button to zoom in on the Joker.

He was talking to Rachel, holding his knife up to her face to keep her subdued. Salomé gasped as Rachel kicked him, causing him to step back for a second. Then, just as he was approaching her again, the Batman appeared and punched him in the face. Salomé covered her eyes, determined not to watch, but couldn't resist peeking through her fingers a few seconds later. She gasped loudly at the sight in front of her.

The Joker was holding Rachel over the edge of one of the floor-to-ceiling penthouse windows, which he had shot out with the gun he was now holding to her head. The Batman stood a few feet away, with his back to the camera. A few seconds passed, and then the Joker released Rachel, letting her fall off the edge. Salomé lurched to her feet, letting out a strangled cry as Bruce jumped out the window after her.

Salomé's whole body was shaking as she backed away from the screens, both hands covering her mouth and tears streaming down her cheeks.

But she froze as the Joker slowly turned until he was looking directly up into the camera. His eyes seemed to bore into hers. _He knows I'm here,_ she realized, slowly lowering her hands from her mouth.

She drew a sharp intake of breath, continuing to back away until her back hit the wall, as he lifted his hand and waved. Her body began to shake full-force again as she sank down to the floor.

Then, the Joker turned and walked away, his goons following, and vanished from sight.

* * *

As always, lemme know your thoughts! Next chapter hopefully coming in the next couple days as an "I'm sorry for being MIA".

xo nightmoth


	15. Slaughter is the Best Medicine

Ugh, you guys, I'm so frickin sorry. To be honest I had a really hard time writing this chapter because it's a transition phase and there were a lot of movie plot points I had to follow to get to where we needed to be. Sorry sorry sorry.

Things will be easier from here on out because now things are getting good.

Thank you to birdie and India blue for the reviews! xoxoxoxoxoxox

Lots of stuff packed into this chapter, I hope you guys like it!

* * *

 **Chapter 15**

Salomé remained crouched against the wall of Bruce's secret room for what felt like hours. She had dried out her tear ducts crying for Bruce and Rachel, assuming the worst had happened to them after their fall from the penthouse window.

She sat now with her forehead resting on her knees, trembling uncontrollably. Bruce was gone. Just when she had started to think she could find a way to move on with her life and be with someone who understood and supported her, he was gone. And poor Rachel- she was on a path to real happiness with Harvey, and now that was gone, too.

All thanks to the Joker- the rightful owner of her heart. She couldn't help but feel responsible. She wondered if the Joker would've shown up to the party at all if it hadn't been hosted by her _new boyfriend,_ Bruce Wayne- a relationship which, she was sure, the Joker had read about in the newspapers.

She contemplated these things over and over again, not bothering to leave the small bubble of Bruce's secret room.

Eventually she heard the sound of the door opening, but she didn't look up. She was sure it was just Alfred or Lucius coming to find her. But then she felt a familiar strong hand on her shoulder, and she looked up to see the Batman crouched next to her. She gasped and stared at him for a second, stunned.

And then she let herself fall into his chest as she dissolved into sobs of relief.

"Hey, hey, hey…." Bruce's voice murmured softly.

"I saw the whole thing, I saw the whole thing," she choked out. "I thought I lost you… he knew I was here… God, I'm so glad you're alright…"

Amidst her incoherent sobbing, he slid an arm under her legs and lifted her up to carry her out of the room. She wrapped her arms tightly around his neck as he carried her through the penthouse until they reached his bedroom. He set her down in a sitting position on the side of the bed and crouched down in front of her.

Her sobbing had subsided, and she took in the beautiful sight of him in his bat suit.

"Is Rachel alright?" she whispered.

"She's fine, she's back home with Harvey now."

Salomé breathed a sigh of relief and nodded. "I'm just so glad you're alright," she repeated softly, pulling him into another crushing hug.

"I'm sorry I didn't come back sooner," he said gravely. He grabbed her by the shoulders and pushed her back to arm's length, staring seriously into her eyes. "Salomé, I have some bad news. Commissioner Loeb and Judge Surrillo are dead."

Salomé instinctively brought both hands to her mouth as her jaw dropped. Tears instantly filled her eyes and she shook her head in disbelief. Commissioner Loeb and Judge Surrillo were close family friends. Judge Surrillo was even Salomé's godmother.

"The Joker?" she asked, her voice almost a whisper.

"Yeah. He targeted them. Salomé, I know this is hard, but I need your help. I need you to team up with me. Gotham needs all the help it can get right now."

Salomé rested her face in her hands. She felt like she was being pulled in a million different directions. She felt anger and almost hatred mixing in with her love for the Joker now. Yes, she hated him. But she couldn't bear the thought of confronting him. She knew Bruce and everyone else would expect her to hurt or kill him if necessary, and she just didn't think she had it in her. As much hatred as she had for him now, there was still a part of her that was in love with him.

"I'm sorry. I just can't," she murmured hoarsely.

She heard the Batman sigh with disappointment, but she couldn't bear to look up.

* * *

"The funeral's in two days, boss," a clown-masked goon said gruffly. "Everything's ready to go."

"Wonderful," the Joker said sardonically from the chair behind his desk, giving his goon a look that clearly signaled it was time for him to get out of his boss's office. The goon backed cautiously out of the office and closed the door behind him.

The Joker had plans for Gotham at that funeral. He was hoping the little bird would be there to see it all. He'd caught a glimpse of her being spirited away by Bruce Wayne at the fundraiser, and now he was aching to see more of her. He couldn't deny how beautiful she'd looked in her black gown, and he couldn't help but smile at the irony of the feathers on the train of her dress. _A little bird through and through,_ he'd thought.

He'd felt so tempted to seek her out in whatever little secret control room she was hiding in, where he was sure she was watching everything. But then he'd thought of the still-healing cut on his chest, and how she'd told him to stay away. He felt he owed her that much, if that was what she wanted.

He just hoped she was still standing when it was all over.

* * *

She sat on the edge of the bed in her childhood bedroom, eyeing the elegant black dress she was about to put on glumly. She hated funerals. She hated any ceremony that reminded her how final death was. And she couldn't stand the fact that today she would witness Police Commissioner Loeb being put in the ground- Police Commissioner Loeb, who died at the hands of the person she loved. It was too much.

Her phone buzzed next to her. She unlocked it with her thumbprint and read the text she'd just received from Bruce.

Bruce Wayne: Be careful today. Remember, the mayor has been targeted. I know the Joker won't hurt you but you'll be right in the line of fire. I'll be there as B.

She tossed her phone back onto the mattress and sighed. She wanted to try again to talk her father out of giving his speech, but she knew it was no use. She'd already been hounding him about it since they'd found out that the Joker had targeted the mayor, but her father was stubborn. PC Loeb was one of his closest friends, and he wouldn't be cowed from speaking at one of his closest friends' funeral. Thus, they would all be sitting up on the platform. She just hoped security was tight enough that no one got hurt. Her stomach was in knots.

She heard a soft knock at the door, and then her mother, clad in a chic knee-length wrap dress and black Louboutin pumps, appeared from behind it. She offered Salomé a weak smile as she approached the bed and sat next to her daughter, draping an arm around her shoulders.

"I don't want to do this," Salomé whispered.

"I know, _trésor_ ," her mother said soothingly. "But your father has his mind made up, so we have to stand behind him." She brushed her daughter's hair away from her face. "I'll leave you to get dressed. We should leave as soon as you're ready." She touched Salomé's cheek and then gracefully made her exit.

Salomé slid off the bed and approached the chair her dress was draped over, fingering the fabric mournfully as she thought of the Joker. _Please, please don't hurt anyone I love today,_ she thought.

Forty minutes later Salomé sat in between her parents in the limo that had picked them up, wringing her hands in anticipation as she looked out the window. The city whizzed by and she felt a jolt of anxiety at the thought that soon they would all be sitting out in the open, five feet away from the Joker's target: the mayor. Their limo fell in behind the honor guard and the mayor's limo at the front of the funeral procession, with more honor guard, PC Loeb's family, and the hearse following. There was a thick crowd of mourners on either side of the wide avenue.

 _If something happens, it'll be total chaos,_ it dawned on her. _Which is exactly what he wants._

She moved to one of the seats along the sides of the limo and brought her face close to the window to look up to the tops of the buildings. She could see the small black forms of sniper shooters on several of the roofs. She wondered where the Batman was watching from.

Soon they were approaching the raised platform, which featured a podium and a row of seats on either side. Salomé's stomach roiled as the mayor's limo pulled up in front of the platform and he got out, waving somberly to the crowds on either side of the street. Lieutenant Gordon stepped out behind him, and they both mounted the steps onto the platform and sat down. Then his limo was pulling away, and theirs was approaching the platform. Her father got out first, then helped her mother out. They practiced the same somber wave as the mayor as they moved aside for Salomé to step out of the limo as well. They ascended the steps to the platform and took their seats next to the mayor and Gordon on one side of the podium. The honor guard fanned out on either side as the limo with PC Loeb's family in it pulled up, then fell into line formation after his family were seated in the row on the other side of the podium.

All too soon, the mayor was standing behind the podium and the crowd was falling completely silent. Salomé anxiously scanned the crowd as he spoke, looking for anyone suspicious- looking for the Joker. But she didn't see him. She didn't see anyone who looked odd or out of place. _Maybe it was just an empty threat,_ she thought to herself. _Maybe he saw me on the platform and changed his mind._ But something in her gut told her that couldn't be true.

The mayor fell silent and directed his gaze towards the honor guard as they began the 21-gun salute. Salomé flinched at each shot as the first one rang out, then the second. Her eyes shot upwards at the third shot, which was accompanied by the snipers all shooting at a window in one of the buildings. Salomé glanced around, but no one else seemed to notice.

Then time slowed to a standstill as her eyes fell back towards the honor guard, resting on a strangely familiar face looking back at her. A young face, with hazel eyes and a long scar on either cheek. Her breath caught in her chest.

And then time sped up again when the fourth shot rang out and her eyes darted back to the podium as two bodies hit the floor, and then she was on her knees, screaming as she knelt over Lieutenant Gordon's body, her father and the mayor on either side of her. She looked back towards the honor guard to find his face again, but they were scattered, running in all directions with the panicking crowd, and he was gone.

She leapt to her feet and descended the stairs to the street, scanning around for him, determined to find him, and then a vice-like hand was wrapping around her arm and pulling her away. She looked speechlessly up into the Batman's face, noticing for the first time that her cheeks were wet with tears.

He pulled her into an alley where the Batmobile was idling, and deposited her into the passenger seat. Then he climbed into the driver's seat and they were zooming through alley after alley until they made it out of the city.

"Where are we going?" she asked hoarsely.

"I'm dropping you off at the Manor, and you're staying there until I come back to take you home."

"I want to help you."

He looked at her in surprise.

"He's killed three people I love now," she continued. "I can't just sit by anymore."

He was silent for a moment before nodding. "Fine. We'll stop at the Manor so you can change. Your stuff is still there. We'll wait for nightfall, and then we have work to do."

* * *

"From one professional to another, if you're trying to scare somebody, pick a better spot," Salvatore Maroney said smugly as the Batman dangled him over a fire escape.

Their first task as a team was simple: interrogate Maroney about the Joker's whereabouts.

Salomé had taken her time getting ready, since it was her first time venturing out as the Nightmoth in a while. She had debated whether to keep the Joker's card strapped to her thigh like she always did- she had even strapped her knife to her thigh without it initially. But when she'd been about to walk out the door, she'd realized she couldn't do it. He was part of her, part of the Nightmoth, and there was nothing she could do about it. So she'd gone back and re-strapped her knife with the card flush against her skin.

They'd found Maroney at a loud, sleezy nightclub, and had to beat down several of his cronies before they were able to finally grab him. That was what lead them to where they were now, dangling him over the second floor fire escape of an abandoned building.

"From this height, the fall wouldn't kill me," Maroney continued.

Salomé leaned against the wall with her arms crossed and smirked at him.

"We're counting on it," she said. Then Bruce dropped Maroney over the side of the fire escape, pausing for a beat before jumping down after him. Maroney screamed as he fell, and landed on the pavement with a sickening crunch as his legs broke. Bruce landed on his feet and crouched over Maroney, grabbing him by the front of his shirt.

" _Where is he?"_ he growled. Salomé hopped down to the first level fire escape, and then swung down off the ladder, landing on her feet on the pavement before approaching them. She crouched next to Bruce.

"…you want this guy, you got one way," Maroney was saying, gasping through the pain in his broken legs. "But you already know what that is. Just take off that mask, and let him come find you." Bruce angrily released his shirt, pushing him back on to the ground. "Or are you going to let a couple more people get killed while you make up your mind?"

Bruce stood and stalked away. Salomé gave Maroney a last dark look before getting to her feet and trotting after him. "Don't listen to him," she said. "You can't give up. I know the Joker. We have that advantage. We can think of something."

"No, we can't. I'm not risking your life any more than we already are for this."

"That's not really your decision to make," she retorted.

"Go home, Nightmoth. We've done enough for one night."

"What about you?" she asked.

"I need to speak to Harvey Dent," he said. "Alone," he added gruffly as she opened her mouth to protest. She sighed and stopped walking, letting him continue without her. She stood still for a moment, watching him go, and then turned on her heel and started down a nearby alley on her long walk home.

She smiled to herself as she walked, realizing how long it had been since she had walked the alleys of Gotham by herself. She had to admit, it felt good to wear her mask again. She'd missed how powerful and _secure_ she felt with it on. She ran her fingertips along the brick wall as she turned a corner into another alley.

"Just like old times," she muttered to herself.

"My thoughts exactly," a familiar voice drawled behind her. She froze for a second, gooseflesh raising on her entire body. Then she came to her senses and whirled around.

He was back to wearing his customary purple suit and clown makeup, leaning on one shoulder against the brick wall not five feet away from her with his hands in his pockets.

"So nice to see you out and about, _little bird_ ," he continued sardonically. "Even if you _are_ working with that idiotic Batman. I've missed you."

"What the fuck do you want? I told you to stay away from me," Salomé spat. Her hands automatically balled up into fists as anger pulsed through her, mixed in with nerves and anticipation.

"Calm down, _girlie_ , I just want to give you a message. No need to get those panties in a twist," he replied in a condescending tone. "Though I gotta say, you are so _cute_ when you're mad at me!"

The anger finally exploded through her and before she knew it her knife was in her fist, flying towards his chest. He knocked her wrist from its trajectory with little effort and twisted her arm behind her back, slamming the front of her body into the wall and sandwiching it there with his own body. He plucked her knife from her fist with his free hand and threw it further down the alley.

She was breathing hard and began to tremble when she realized this was exactly how they were standing the first time they spoke. She tried not to enjoy the warmth of his familiarly hard body against her back. They passed several long moments in silence, the only sound their soft panting.

"What do you want?" she finally asked again, in a hoarse whisper this time.

His voice had completely lost its sardonic edge and came out low and serious when he spoke. "Don't go out tomorrow."

"What?"

"Don't go out tomorrow," he repeated. "Stay inside."

Her pride and anger flared again, and she found her voice.

"Why are you telling me this? I thought you didn't give a fuck about me."

She felt his grip on her wrist tighten a little. "Just listen to me," he said.

Then he released her and she whirled around to watch him back away.

"Goodbye, little bird," he said, with just a hint of his usual sarcastic tone in his voice. Then he rounded a corner and vanished from sight.

* * *

Salomé crouched down in the alley nearest to the blockade as she waited for her moment. Both of the men in her life had told her to stay home, but they could go fuck themselves. Big things were happening in Gotham tonight, and lives were at stake. There was no way she was going to sit that out. So she had told Bruce very sweetly that she'd lay low tonight, and then she'd made her own plan.

She had never been more thankful for Harvey Dent's presence in Gotham than when he had taken the fall for Bruce by saying he was the Batman. Everything was falling into place now. The Joker would try to take Harvey out while they were transporting him, and then the real Batman would intervene, showing everyone Harvey's bluff. And if they were very, very lucky, Bruce would capture the Joker before the night's end.

She just hoped she could make it so that not too many people got caught in the crossfire in the process.

The police had blocked off the route Harvey's convoy would take to the Major Crimes Unit building. She had checked every blockade until she'd reached one with a large truck waiting for the blockades to be lifted. The truck said "Laughter is the Best Medicine" on the side, but someone had graffiti'd a large red "S" in front of "Laughter," so the sign read "Slaughter is the Best Medicine". She'd known that would be the Joker's truck. So she'd crouched down in an alley a few feet away, and now she was waiting.

A few more moments passed before the driver of the truck honked impatiently, and a police officer approached the driver's side window. Salomé stole out of the alley and towards the back end of the truck, where she stepped up onto the ledge and hung on to the outside handle. She heard the cop yell something to the driver, and then a gunshot rang out, making her flinch. Then they were moving, plowing through the barrier. She slowly slid down, holding onto the handle with one hand, until she was squatting down on the ledge. Then she gave the sliding door handle a small upward tug with her free hand. It opened an inch. _It's unlocked,_ she thought with relief.

She slowly pulled on the handle until there was a foot-tall opening she could lean down and glance through. She saw that there were several boxes near the door and said a silent prayer of thanks.

She inched the door open until she could slip her legs through, and then slid the rest of the way in sideways on her back. Then she quietly pulled the door closed from the inside.

She crouched behind the boxes and peeked out to take in her surroundings. Her breath caught when she spotted the Joker himself, as well as eight or so of his masked goons, all wielding guns. The Joker was squatting down near the sliding side door of the truck, seemingly in wait. A moment later he slid the side door open, and she caught a glimpse of the armored truck carrying Harvey through the opening. The Joker lifted his gun and shot at the truck, but the bullets bounced off.

He handed the gun off to one of his goons, who handed a shotgun back to him. He began firing the shotgun at the truck and the surrounding police cars. Salomé inched forward, waiting for her moment to strike. The Joker fired the shotgun a few more times at the armored truck to no avail, and handed it back to his goon, who in turn handed him an enormous cannon-like gun. Salomé's jaw dropped. _Is that a bazooka?_ she wondered. His goons began firing at the police cars. She inched forward as things became more chaotic.

The Joker fired at the truck, but missed. One of his goons handed him a new rocket, which he loaded into the bazooka before firing again. He hit a police car this time, which erupted into flames. Salomé prepared herself. She had to do something now.

The Joker loaded another rocket into the bazooka, and this time he had a clear shot at Harvey's truck. He pulled the trigger, and Salomé launched herself to her feet. But then an enormous black vehicle soared in front of the bazooka, taking the blow before it could reach the truck. Salomé had just enough time to recognize the Batmobile before the backlash of the explosion threw the truck to the side, knocking everyone aboard off their feet. The truck slammed into the side of the tunnel they were in and slowed to a stop.

Salomé peered around from her place on the floor. She had fallen back amongst the boxes, so no one had noticed her yet. She watched as the Joker climbed up to the front of the truck.

"Excuse me, I wanna drive," he said mockingly as he kicked the driver out of the driver's side door, then got behind the wheel. The truck began to move again, picking up speed.

"Okay, rack 'em up! Rack 'em up, rack 'em up, rack 'em up," he said into a radio.

Salomé quietly pushed herself into a crouching position. Now was the time, while everyone was knocked down and disoriented.

She sprang to her feet and surged forward, kicking the nearest goon in the head with her high heel before he could react. She dodged out of the grabbing hands of the other goons as they began to yell, heading towards the front where the Joker was driving.

She saw him glance into the rearview mirror at the commotion and make startled eye contact with her.

She was almost to the front when she heard one gunshot, then another.

And then she was ducking her head down as she felt an impact in her shoulder and back, and then she was flying forward into the front, smashing her forehead into the center console before slumping sideways into the passenger seat.

Her head landed against the door and she had time to gaze at the Joker's shocked expression and register the warm wetness spreading down both her back and her front before the whole world turned upside down and everything went black.

* * *

" _Fuck!"_ the Joker yelled. He managed to reach over and grab onto Salomé's upper arm, holding her against the seat as the entire truck flipped over. His head smashed against the roof as the truck landed and he saw stars, but he tried to shake them away as he clambered over to where Salomé lay in a bleeding heap next to him. He grasped her jaw and shook her head. "Salomé," he said urgently. "Salomé, wake up."

She didn't stir. He could see that almost the entire front of her black slip dress was soaked in blood. He registered the bleeding gash on her head and the visible through-and-through bullet hole underneath the right side of her collarbone. Then he gingerly turned her over, and winced as he saw the second seeping bullet wound in her back. "Fuck," he muttered again.

"Boss," one of his goons said dazedly. "What do we-"

"Get her out of here," the Joker barked, reaching over and flinging the passenger's side door open. He grabbed his goon by the collar and pulled him towards Salomé's body. "Get her to the warehouse _now_ ," he said. He glanced through the back of the truck to see another goon getting to his feet. "You go with him. No one touches her except to treat her wounds. And if she dies, you all die," he growled menacingly.

The first goon hastily scooped Salomé into his arms and crawled awkwardly out of the passenger door with her. The other goon followed closely, and they set off down a nearby alley.

Then the Joker climbed out of the driver's side and stumbled towards where he knew the Batman was waiting for him.

* * *

Gooooood stuff coming next chapter! Stay tuned :)

xo nightmoth


	16. Welcome to the Warehouse

Hi babes :) So I thought I'd post a mini chapter to make up for having been so late with my last two. This one isn't as long as the last few, but it was fun to write and has lots of Joker-Salomé goodness in it!

Shoutout to India blue for the review! So glad you liked the last chapter :)

Enjoy!

* * *

 **Chapter 16**

The Joker was out of the Escalade and heading towards the warehouse door before the car was even fully at a stop.

He paused and took a breath before opening it. He couldn't look concerned about the little bird's wellbeing. He had already revealed too much by telling his goons to bring her here in the first place. That had been a huge mistake. But he'd analyzed the options, and it was the only one. Other than letting her bleed out, which _wasn't_ an option.

The last twenty-four hours had been torture. Everything had gone according to plan, of course- that is, everything except Salomé. He'd almost driven himself crazy in the holding cell, wondering if she was alive or dead.

He'd been thankful when they had pulled him out to interrogate him, and the Batman had shown up. At least it had been a distraction. Under normal circumstances, he would've mocked the Batman about his new little partner being in mortal danger, but he couldn't even bring himself to do that. He felt a strange tight feeling in his throat when he thought about the possibility that Salomé hadn't made it.

Even though he knew that after the events of the last twenty-four hours, she probably would never speak to him again.

He calmly opened the door and moved through the wide-open space towards the stairs, keeping his face steely. His goons stared warily at him as he went, no doubt confused by the little bird's presence in the warehouse.

"Boss," they acknowledged quietly as he passed by.

He mounted the steps smoothly and opened the door to the only other bedroom on his floor, right next to his office. One of his goons stood just on the other side of the door, supervising as the doctor they held hostage, Hoffman, leaned over a tucked-in figure on the bed. The Joker slid his hands into his pockets as he moved further into the room and the little bird's head and shoulders came into view. Hoffman was holding a stethoscope to her chest underneath the blanket, listening to her heartbeat. He removed the stethoscope and took a step back when he caught sight of the Joker.

"Did she wake up?" the Joker asked curtly.

"Not as of yet. She lost a lot of blood, so it may take a couple days."

"Be a doll and get out of here, doc," the Joker drawled. He didn't remove his gaze from Salomé's face as his goon escorted the doctor out of the room and quietly shut the door. Then he released a breath he didn't know he'd been holding.

He approached her bedside slowly and sat on the edge. He removed his gloves one by one and set them on the bedside table before gently peeling back the white duvet, baring her torso. A large square of gauze was taped over the bullet hole under her collarbone. The gash on the side of her forehead had been cleaned, and he saw that it was surrounded by an angry-looking purple bruise.

They had taken her boots and dress off, he presumed to be able to access the bullet hole in her back, leaving her in her bra and underwear. But she still had her mask and knife holster on. _Guess you all took my warning not to touch her pretty literally, didn't you,_ he thought darkly.

He reached over and gently slid one hand under her neck to cup her head as he lifted it up, and gingerly removed her mask with his other hand. Her face was pale. He lifted her head a little higher to remove the pins in her hair, and then gently lowered it back onto the pillow.

He scooted back a little to unbuckle the straps of the knife holster on her thigh, trying to be careful not to touch her skin. He paused when something slid out onto the mattress from behind the holster.

A card. He flipped it over. No, _his_ card.

The strange tight feeling rose up in his throat again as he picked the card up. He finished pulling the holster off her thigh and pulled the duvet back up over her before turning away and resting his elbows on his knees, his card resting loosely in one hand, the other pinching the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. He tried to stamp down the growing intensity of the tightness, but it wouldn't lessen. He let out a deep sigh.

 _She kept your card all this time, just like you kept her scar,_ he thought.

He pushed himself off the bed and headed for the door. He paused before opening it, eyeing her boots, which were on the floor next to the door. He turned one, then the other upside down, and a key fob fell out. He picked it up and stepped outside. One of his goons stood guard on the other side of the door.

"Get some actual furniture for that room. And send a few of you to her place to get her stuff." He tossed the key fob at the goon before turning away towards his office. He picked up one of his office chairs with one hand and walked right back out, carrying it back into the little bird's room and setting it down next to her bed. Then he settled into it, crossing one ankle over his knee and folding his hands in his lap.

"For better or for worse, you're stuck with me now, little bird," he said. "Even if you hate my guts when you wake up."

* * *

She knew something weird was going on when she felt the pain.

She'd been in a warm, dark place. It was quiet, and she felt weightless and peaceful. But then all of a sudden her arms and legs felt heavy, and she felt pain in her chest and back, and she could hear voices. But she couldn't see anything.

She had enough time to remember the truck and the gunshots and the Joker before a thick blanket was thrown over her and then she was weightless in the dark place once more.

She stayed there for what seemed like ages, until once again, she felt the excruciating pain and the heaviness of her arms and legs. She could hear voices. They sounded muffled at first, but then became clearer, and she soon became aware that there were two and she didn't recognize either of them.

"…know what's going to happen if he keeps picking off all the most important people in Gotham."

"Harvey Dent survived. And that Rachel girl wasn't that important. Now, shut the fuck up and do your work, doctor."

Her mind reeled. Rachel was dead? She felt panic and dread fill her chest for only a second before once again she was pulled back under into the dark place.

She floated and floated, and tried to piece together coherent thoughts, but she couldn't. She tried to think about Rachel and the Joker and what it all meant, but she couldn't make sense of it. Every time she felt she was about to grasp a thought, it seemed to slip through her fingers like water. So she stopped trying.

The third time she felt the lead weight of her limbs and the sharp pain of her bullet wounds, she didn't react. She just waited for the darkness to take her back. This time, there weren't any voices. Just the sound of the air around her, and the sound of her own breathing.

She waited and waited, but no darkness. She slowly became aware of the softness of a mattress underneath her, and the warm heaviness of a thick blanket on top of her.

And then her eyes opened. She blinked once, twice.

She was staring at a white ceiling, in a room she didn't recognize, and a bed that wasn't her own. Under the covers, she flexed her fingers in and out of a weak fist.

Before she could take in anymore of her surroundings, her vision was filled with the head and torso of a man she didn't recognize leaning over her.

"Salomé? Salomé, can you hear me?"

She tried to speak, but only a strangled cough escaped her mouth. The man slid his hand underneath her head and lifted it as he produced a cup of water from somewhere. She gratefully took a few sips, but sputtered and choked as two white hot stabs of pain shot through her chest and back.

"Easy, easy," the man said as he gently lowered her head back onto the pillow. "You're still very weak, and those bullet holes are fresh. It's going to hurt to move for a while so just try to stay still."

"Who are you?" she whispered hoarsely.

"I'm Doctor Hoffman," he replied.

"Where am I?"

Doctor Hoffman hesitated. He opened his mouth to answer, but then a familiar, chilling voice did it for him.

"You're in the warehouse, little bird."

Salomé froze, and felt her eyes widen. Doctor Hoffman gave her a look that she thought had a hint of sympathy, before straightening and backing out of her field of vision, revealing the familiar figure lounging in the chair next to her bed.

He didn't say anything, just kept his unreadable gaze on hers, his makeup perfectly done and not a single green hair out of place.

She was dumbstruck for a moment at the sight of him, and at the implications of what he'd just said. But then she remembered Rachel, and the anger that filled her was almost too much to bear.

She tried to find her words, but her mind was still hazy and they came out incoherent. "Rachel- you- you-"

She grew angrier as she sputtered, gasping in between each word, and each deep breath she took sent shock waves of pain from her bullet wounds. Soon she was sobbing, both for Rachel and from the pain. The Joker's expression was still unreadable, but she thought she saw something close to mournful in his eyes.

"I hate you," she sobbed, struggling to sit up and claw at his face. She felt hot, wet blood flowing from her newly opened bullet wounds, but she didn't care. "I hate you, I _fucking_ hate you, oh, God, Rachel-"

The Joker was on his feet now, leaning over her, grabbing her arms and pushing her gently but forcefully back onto the bed, and then she felt a sharp pinch on her upper arm, and her legs and arms were like dead weights and she couldn't move and she was struggling to feel anything. She sucked long gasps of air into her lungs, ignoring the pain they caused, and hoped that the hatred she was feeling in every single fiber of her being would be conveyed through the look she was giving the Joker right now. She tried to speak, but her mind was becoming dull from the sedative they'd injected her with, and she couldn't wrap her lips around the words.

But she refused to sleep.

The Joker settled down next to her on the edge of the bed and sighed as the doctor left the room. She heard the door shut behind him. She directed her gaze towards the ceiling. The room was silent for a long moment.

When the Joker finally spoke, his voice was quiet, with no trace of sarcasm or mocking.

"You asked me once why I call you 'little bird'. I never answered."

Her eyed widened a little but she continued to stare straight upwards.

"One night last winter, I was waiting for my men to pick me up. I was standing around in some dark alleyway far out of the Diamond District. The kind of place where you don't expect to see anything good, or _pretty_. _My_ kind of place. But there you were. You were wearing a red dress and a crown. You dodged into my alley like you were running away from someone, but you were _laughing_. All by yourself in a seedy alleyway, with no idea just what was lurking only a few feet away from you, and you were laughing." He chuckled darkly. "I thought to myself that you looked like a bird of paradise in a swamp. Those were my exact words."

Her eyes prickled, and she felt a hot tear slide down the side of her forehead and into her hair. He continued to speak in the same quiet voice.

"When I told you I only helped you because I hate rapists, that was only partially true. The night you were attacked, I recognized you. I knew you were the bird of paradise I'd seen that first night." He paused, as though his next words were difficult to speak. "The first time I saw you, I saw that there was something else hidden deep inside you. Something great. And I couldn't let some limp dick club rat take that away from you. That's the real reason I helped you."

The tears were streaming down the sides of her face and into her hair now, but she couldn't take her eyes away from the ceiling. She felt the Joker stand and heard him cross to the door.

"I'm sorry I had to bring you here, but you were bleeding out and I had no choice. I'm sure you understand that now that you've seen this place, I can't let you leave. They're bringing some of your things here, so at least you'll be comfortable."

Another moment of silence passed, and then she heard the door open and close.

She lay there, reeling from his words, until finally the sedation was too strong and she surrendered herself to sleep.

* * *

Hehehe.

xo, nightmoth


	17. Secret Doors

Hello, my loves! I'm soooooo so sorry for the huge gap between updates. I'm still alive, lol. A bunch of shit happened in my life at once- I started school again, my boyfriend of 3 years and I broke up, and I moved back into my parents' house- so things have been wild! But they're settling down now, so I hope I'll be able to update more often. I wanna say, though, that I will never just give up on this fic- it'll be finished even if there's a gap between updates, so don't worry about that.

Thank you SO much to india blue, all the guest reviewers, acetwolf94, grlvct, and Rose for the reviews! I'm so, so happy that you all are enjoying this fic, and it always brightens my day to read your reviews. Love you guys :')

Super long chapter this time to make up for being a flake lately, with a big lemon at the end ;) I hope you guys enjoy it!

 _Disclaimer: I own nothing but my OCs. The Joker and Bruce Wayne/The Batman are property of DC Comics._

* * *

 **Chapter 17**

When she woke again, she was alone, and the room was dim. She blinked a few times to get the sleep out of her eyes before using the palms of her hands to slowly push herself up until she was sitting against the headboard. She yelped and hissed in pain as the movement disturbed her wounds.

She noticed several things at once that she hadn't absorbed in her hazy state the last time she had been awake.

The first was that she was in her bra and panties, and someone had changed her bandages while she'd been out after her little episode when she'd seen the Joker. She also had an IV hooked up to her arm. The second was that the room was rather large, and the whole layout had changed. The double bed was still in the same spot, pushed up against the back wall of the room across from the door. But there was a simple white area rug on the concrete floor now, and a large wooden dresser painted white with black knobs sat against the perpendicular wall to her left. On top of the dresser were two large Louis Vuitton zippered pouches that she recognized as her own toiletry and makeup bags. To the left of the dresser was a closed door. _Bathroom?_ she wondered, _Or closet?_

On the wall opposite the dresser was a matching white wooden desk, and she could see her drawing tablet sitting on top of it. There was a nightstand on either side of the bed, one of which had a lamp atop it. Finally, directly across from her bed on the opposite wall, there was a mounted flat screen TV with her entire DVD collection from her apartment sitting on a shelf below it. She set aside her anger at the Joker for a moment to say a silent prayer of thanks. _At least I'll have something to do other than draw on my tablet._

She scanned the brick walls of the room, her eyes landing on the heavy metal door. _This must be one of the old warehouses, before they all were built completely out of metal,_ she thought. There was one tiny barred window on the same wall the bed was up against, and it let in a weak little shaft of light. She couldn't see from this angle what was on the other side of it.

She used what felt like the last of her strength to push her torso off of the headboard so she could adjust her pillows into a more comfortable position. She groaned through gritted teeth at the pain in her wounds, and collapsed back against the pillows with a heavy release of breath as a thin film of sweat broke out on her forehead. "Fuck," she panted.

Feeling utterly spent, she lay propped up against her pillows for what felt like hours. With the brick walls and the heavy iron doors, she couldn't hear anything outside of her room and couldn't tell how much activity there was in the warehouse. She thought about turning the TV on, but she felt too tired to even reach for the remote, which lay on one of the nightstands. Instead, she tried to internalize the situation she was in now.

Her parents probably thought she was dead.

She was being held prisoner by the Joker, who she was in love with but also hated.

She might never see the outdoors again.

She might never see anyone she cared about again.

A tear slid down her cheek as she contemplated these things.

After what felt like an interminable amount of time, the door opened, revealing Dr. Hoffman. He was followed by one of the Joker's masked goons, who closed the door behind him and stood in front of it, watching them.

"Ah, you're awake," Dr. Hoffman said with a smile. He was an average-sized man with unkempt, graying brown hair and a scruffy salt-and-pepper beard. He wore a gray sweater that was visibly worn in some spots and a faded pair of corduroys, and carried a doctor's bag in his hand.

"Salomé, you may not remember me from the last time you woke up. My name is Dr.-"

"Hoffman," Salomé finished with a weak smile. He smiled in return.

"How are you feeling?"

"Tired, I guess," she said. Her voice felt raw and hoarse from lack of use. "And it hurts to move."

"Well, you had two through-and-through bullets that tore through a lot of tissue," he said gently. "Things are going to be painful for a little while. I've been giving you morphine for the pain, which is why you might have felt so out of it when you woke up last. I actually came in to check up on things and give you your next dose."

"No, please," she said. "Can't you give me something else? I don't want to be so out of it."

"We might have some Vicodin I can give you," he nodded.

"Thank you," she said gratefully. "What time is it?"

"Just after ten in the morning."

She studied him as he checked on her IV. "How did you get here?"

His face fell as he moved towards her to change her bandages. She winced at the movement of her skin around her wound when he gently un-taped the square of gauze. "The Joker has had me hostage here for about six months now," he said sadly. "His men kidnapped me one day when I was on my way home from the hospital. He needs a doctor here for when he or his men get injured." He examined her wounds for a moment before applying some antiseptic and taping on new bandages. Then he motioned for her to turn so he could change the ones on her back. She suppressed the scream of pain that rose in her throat as she turned to her stomach.

Salomé's heart ached with sympathy at his words. "I'm so sorry," she said.

"I'm sure you can guess what happened to my predecessor. But I'm cooperative, so he's kept me around so far."

"I'm going to get you out of here, I promise," she said in a weak but determined voice.

Dr. Hoffman sighed. "Just focus on getting better," he said as he taped fresh bandages on her back. She couldn't fully suppress the scream this time as she turned back over. The doctor placed a comforting hand on her shoulder as she lay panting for a few moments.

"Is there a bathroom?" she asked once she caught her breath.

"Yeah, it's that door over there," he said, gesturing towards the door to the left of the dresser. "Do you need help?" He moved to help her as she slowly began to push herself towards the edge of the bed, gritting her teeth against the pain.

"No, I got it," she groaned. Finally with her legs dangling over the side, she gave herself a final push to land on her feet, grabbing onto her rolling IV stand. Her knees immediately gave out.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Dr. Hoffman said, managing to catch her under the armpits before she could fall. "Let me help you." He supported her weight, moving with her as she put one foot in front of the other towards the bathroom door, dragging the IV stand with her. Her legs felt shaky, but they seemed to steady a little the more she moved. Dr. Hoffman guided her into the bathroom and flicked the light on, stationing her at the sink. "Think you can take it from here?" he asked.

"Yeah, I'll be fine," she said with an embarrassed smile. "Lots of stuff to grab onto in here."

"I'll be right outside, just shout if you need help," he said, before stepping back out and closing the door behind him.

Salomé held onto the edge of the sink as she looked around. The bathroom was spacious and had the same exposed red brick as her room, although the doors were wooden instead of iron. The floor was tiled in white, and the sink was recessed into an alcove and built into a broad tiled countertop with cabinets underneath and a large frameless mirror hanging on top.

She examined her reflection for a moment and grimaced at how haggard she looked. She had no color in her face, and her hair was limp and greasy. She winced at the sight of the large red and purple area surrounding the gash on her head. Then she continued her exploration. She opened the large bottom drawer under the sink, revealing a neat stack of towels. Another contained toilet paper, but the rest were empty.

The toilet was situated in a corner, and up against the opposite wall from the sink was a large claw-foot tub with the shower curtain pulled back. She noticed that the areas of the two walls directly in contact with the tub were tiled in white as well.

There was a bar of soap in the soap dish that appeared to be used, and she also noticed a towel hanging next to the tub. _Am I sharing this with someone?_ she wondered confusedly.

She noticed that directly across from the bathroom door was another identical door. She carefully pushed herself off of the sink and wobbled along the wall towards the mystery door, using the IV stand for support. She tried the doorknob. Locked. _Hmm,_ she thought.

Once she finished in the bathroom, she was able to wobble back to bed without Dr. Hoffman's help. She felt utterly exhausted once she laid down again.

"I wanna shower later," she said once she'd settled in. "But I probably need someone to stand outside the door in case I fall down."

"We can do that when I come back tonight with some pain medication. Are you up to eating right now?"

Salomé made a face. "No, I'm not really hungry at all, actually."

Dr. Hoffman nodded, then stood to leave. "Well, you'll have to eat with the medication I give you, so we'll do that tonight as well." He headed towards the door, where the Joker's goon was still standing watch.

"Doctor," she called. He turned. "Have you seen the Joker?"

He shook his head. "No, I haven't," he said. Then the Joker's goon opened the door, let him exit, and walked out behind him.

She forced herself out of bed again to wobble over to the TV and pick something to watch, pausing a few times on the way to catch her breath. She could see from her angle by the TV that the one little window in the room looked out onto a brick wall about three feet away. She sighed. _So much for a room with a view._

She spent the next several hours resting while watching _Twin Peaks_. She was in the mood to watch something dark. Every once in a while she would wonder if she'd see the Joker before the day was done, and then she would contemplate what life as a prisoner would be like. _I guess it'll be just like this,_ she thought sadly.

Eventually the door opened revealing Dr. Hoffman and his designated goon again, signaling that it must be nighttime now. He was wielding a bed-tray with a shallow bowl of what looked like tomato soup, a glass of water, and two slices of toast on it, as well as a tiny paper cup that Salomé assumed had painkilling pills in it.

"How are you feeling?" Dr. Hoffman asked.

"Painful and in desperate need of a shower," she replied.

He chuckled. "Let's get this going, then," he said. He placed the tray over her legs. "Eat all of this," he instructed. "Even if you have to go slow. I want to make sure you have enough food in your stomach to be able to handle these meds."

She nodded obediently and picked up her spoon. It took her much longer than normal to finish the entire meal due to her reduced appetite, but eventually the bowl was empty and the toast was gone. She upended the two pills from the little paper cup into her palm and tossed them into her mouth, washing them down with several long gulps of water.

"Can I shower now?" she asked.

"Sure thing," he said.

She slowly pulled herself out of bed and wobbled towards the bathroom door, the doctor moving over to the dresser to grab her toiletry pouches before following close behind in case she fell.

"Do I need to keep my IV in for this, or can I take it out?"

"We can go ahead and take it out for good now that you can drink water on your own." He set her toiletries on the bathroom counter and picked up her left arm, gently pulling the needle out of the top of her hand. Then, he slowly pulled off her bandages, ignoring her winces of pain. "I'll be right outside if you need me."

She smiled appreciatively and stepped carefully into the bathroom, flicking on the light and closing the door. She studied the mysterious other door for a moment before taking her shampoo and conditioner out of one pouch, grabbing a towel out of the bottom drawer, and moving unsteadily towards the tub to turn on the hot water. She lay the towel on the side of the tub and carefully reached over to place her toiletries in the shower rack. Then she shed her clothing onto the floor as steam began to fill up the room.

It was the most wonderful shower she'd ever taken. She felt as if the hot water was completely purging her, and the feeling of the shampoo washing the grease out of her hair was divine. When she emerged, she felt warm, squeaky clean, and yes- a bit high from the medicine. She wrapped her towel around herself, careful that the rough fabric didn't touch her wounds, and slowly emerged from the bathroom. The doctor was standing just outside the door, as promised.

She shakily moved past him towards the chest of drawers and opened them one by one until she found a tank top, underwear, and shorts to put on as sleep clothes. Then she retreated back into the bathroom to get dressed and brush her hair.

When she emerged again, the doctor was still there, waiting for her. She moved slowly and unsteadily towards the bed and settled wearily into it.

"Ready for me to put new bandages on for you?" he asked. She nodded, pushing herself upright to allow him access to both her front and back and trying to stifle her groans of pain as he made quick work of cleaning the wounds and taping on new gauze. Then she settled back into the pillows and tried to catch her breath as drowsiness began to settle upon her. "Good night," he said, patting her arm before moving away towards the door, which the goon opened for him.

"'Night," she managed. The door had scarcely closed before sleep took her.

* * *

She awoke the next morning to the doctor checking her wounds and bringing her a light breakfast of oatmeal and orange juice, along with another dose of medicine. She was starting to feel a bit stronger, but even the simple task of walking to and from the bathroom still left her in need of some rest.

She passed the rest of the day watching movies, napping, and thinking about her family. She wondered what they were doing, and if they were coping. She also thought about Bruce, and how he must be beating himself up over what had happened to her.

Soon it was nighttime again, and the doctor was back.

As he cleaned her wounds, she wondered where the Joker was and when she would see him again- not that she was sure she really _wanted_ to see him again. She hated him maybe even more than she loved him at this point. But it was strange being in his domain and yet never knowing where he- or anyone else in the warehouse, for that matter- was.

Time seemed to pass slower and slower as she began to feel better. The days inched by, and after a week passed with no sign of the Joker, an anxious knot began to grow in her stomach as she wondered what would become of her here.

Ten days had gone by before she saw him again.

She awoke from one of her several daily naps to find him sitting in the chair next to her bed, his gloved hands folded calmly in his lap, one ankle crossed over the other knee. Makeup immaculate, hazel eyes burning through her like hot coals.

"Rise and shine, sweetheart," he smirked.

"I was wondering when you'd show up," she said quietly, looking down at her hands. She kept her face expressionless, determined not to let her anger get the best of her this time. She didn't need to be nice to him, but maybe if she wasn't mean, he would let her go.

"I've been busy," he drawled. She nodded, keeping her gaze on her hands. "Glad to see you're feeling better, doll," he continued. "You had us worried for a second." His voice dripped with sarcasm and mocking, all traces of the serious tone from their last conversation gone.

"Doctor Hoffman has been taking good care of me."

"Now, I know we left things a little rocky, but you could at least give your old pal some eye contact," he mocked. She did look at him then, and she knew her anger was burning through her eyes.

"You murdered my friends," she ground out. "You'll never be anything close to a _pal_ to me again."

His smirk grew. "You might wanna rethink that, sweetheart. You're stuck here now, and if we aren't pals, things aren't going to be too pleasant for you. Maybe I'll just take all this nice stuff I got you away and let you rot in here like all the other prisoners," he drawled, spreading one arm in a sweeping gesture towards the new furniture in the room and the TV.

She clenched her jaw shut, trying to keep control of the hatred pulsing through her as she glared at him.

He chuckled. "Well, I can see you're getting upset, so I'll leave you be. We don't want you hurting yourself." He stood and smirked down at her. "See you soon, _little bird._ "

Then he turned and was out the door, leaving her to stew in her anger.

* * *

She had been in the warehouse for three weeks now, and she was feeling mostly better. She had most of her strength back and didn't need pain medicine to get her through the day anymore. Doctor Hoffman still came in every couple days to check on her stitched-up wounds, but she was able to clean them herself now, and they were nearly healed. Her meals were brought to her now by the tall, porky clown-masked goon who stood guard outside of her door during the day.

She hadn't seen the Joker since their conversation about her being stuck here, and she wondered what he was doing and if he had killed anymore people. When she wasn't thinking about that, or crying because she missed her parents, she tried to draw. She couldn't draw anything good, but it was something to pass the time.

That's what she was doing- sitting at the desk with her legs tucked up underneath her, half-heartedly drawing a rather limp-looking dress- when the goon who usually brought her food opened the door and stepped inside. Only it was between mealtimes. She looked warily up at him from her seat.

"Put some shoes on," he said gruffly. "Boss wants to see you."

She looked at him blankly for a second, then put her stylus down and stood.

"Okay, just one second," she said.

She pulled on some sneakers and quickly stepped into the bathroom to glance at her reflection. Her simple leggings and t-shirt weren't her best look, but her hair was getting a nice shine back to it and the bruise on her head was fading.

"Whatever," she mumbled, flicking off the light and stepping back out. "Okay," she told the goon.

He opened the door and gestured for her to step out in front of him. She stopped short for a second at the sight in front of her. Her room opened up onto a sort of elevated walkway made of the same dark metal as the door, with a railing on the other side. From the walkway she could see down into the wide-open warehouse space, which housed several worn-looking leather couches and some tables. She could also see several closed doors down there. The Joker's goons lounged around everywhere and milled about, many of them looking up at her with interest as she stepped out of her room. A little ways down the walkway to her right was a metal staircase leading down to the main level.  
The goon supervising her guided her down the walkway a few yards to her left to another door. Salomé's brow furrowed. _In between these two doors is my bathroom,_ she thought. _So does that mean the other door leads to the Joker's room?_

The goon banged his fist on the door three times.

The Joker's muffled voice drawled back. "Come in."

The goon opened the metal door and gestured towards her. She stepped into a shallow room with brick walls. She took a quick glance around. On the wall to her right was a bookshelf full of old newspapers and books by famous philosophers. There was also a large map of Gotham hanging on the wall, and towards the back of the room on that same wall was a closed door.

Directly in front of her was a large wooden desk with two chairs in front of it. Behind the desk sat the Joker, his elbows resting comfortably on the armrests of his chair. He was eyeing her intensely. "Wait outside," he said to his goon, never taking his eyes off her. She kept her eyes on him, too, as the goon stepped back out of the room and closed the door. "Have a seat, doll," he said smoothly.

She stepped forward and sat down, resting her hands in her lap and staring at him coolly.

"How are you enjoying your stay with us so far?" he asked, smirking.

"Why are you keeping me here?" she asked acidly. "I could've told people plenty of things about you before this, but I didn't. What makes you think I'll start now?"

"Well, little bird, I knew you were loyal to me back then. Now, though, who knows. I mean, look at you." His eyes dropped down to her hands as they tightened involuntarily into fists. He chuckled, continuing in his mocking tone. "You positively _hate_ me now! So odd. I pick off a _few_ incompetent Gotham people and all of a sudden it's like we never _meant anything_ to each other-"

She was on her feet and climbing nimbly over his desk before she could stop herself, launching herself onto his lap and drawing her fist back to hit him in the face. He immediately grabbed each of her wrists and pulled them behind her back, holding them there in one gloved, vice-like hand. He pulled down on them until she was pressed so hard into his lap that she couldn't move. Panting from the exertion and rendered completely helpless, she glared angrily at him as tears began to prickle her eyes.

" _So_ glad to see that you've gotten some of your strength back, doll," he drawled. "But let's calm down, shall we? Wouldn't want you to pop a stitch."

She felt a hot tear slide down her cheek. " _You killed my friends,"_ she hissed.

"Yes, I killed them, and I'll probably kill more before this is through," he said sharply, his eyes glowing with anger now. He used his free hand to grab her jaw, forcing her to look at him. "But I've saved you _twice_ now." More tears slipped out of the corners of her eyes, running down her cheeks and over the leather of his glove. His face was only about six inches from hers. "I saved your _life_ the other day, so let's just call it even, shall we?" he growled. She began sobbing in earnest as she realized that he was right. He _had_ saved her. But he had also hurt her more than anyone she'd ever known. She felt a knot of uncertainty rise in her throat. The Joker released her and she slid down onto the ground, dropping her face into her hands.

"I wish you had just let me die," she whispered.

She heard the Joker go still at her words for a long moment, but she didn't look up. Then she heard his footsteps as he stood and moved towards the door, opening it to let his goon inside.

She heard heavier footsteps moving towards her, and then a meaty hand was wrapping around her arm and pulling her to her feet. The goon steered her towards the door, where the Joker stood looking at her with a strange expression on his face. It looked something like sorrow, or guilt, but she couldn't be sure. She couldn't take her eyes off his as she was led out of the room.

She immediately kicked her sneakers off, shed all her clothing except her underwear, and crawled into bed when she got into her own room. She lay under the covers, alternately dozing off and staring into space, until the weak little shaft of light that shone through the window disappeared and it was nighttime.

When the room was completely dark except for the trickle of moonlight that managed to shine in, she finally pushed herself into a sitting position. Her face felt crusted with the salt of her tears and she felt desperate for a hot, cleansing shower. She dropped slowly off the side of the bed to her feet and slid her underwear down her legs before shuffling into the bathroom and flicking the light on. She turned the water onto the hottest setting and hazily examined her reflection as she waited for it to get steamy.

She ran her hands through her hair and down her neck, letting them come to rest on her breasts as she peered at the fading bruise on her forehead. Her eyes moved down to her two ugly, stitched bullet holes. She sighed, then turned away and stepped into the tub, not even bothering to close the curtain.

She stood under the hot stream of water and turned, slowly, until she was facing the tiled wall behind the tub. She rested her forehead against the cool tile and closed her eyes, savoring the feeling of the scalding water running over her body, stirring up her senses and making her nerve endings come alive.

Her hands found their way back to her breasts, kneading them slowly and lightly rolling her nipples between her fingers. She let out a slow release of breath and pressed her forehead harder into the tile as the sensation ran straight down between her legs. _I haven't done this in a while,_ she realized.

She slid one hand slowly down her stomach until her fingers reached her center. She swirled them around the little bundle of nerves and shuddered lightly at the bolt of pleasure that shot through her. She lifted her left foot up and rested it on the lip of the tub, widening the angle, and continued moving her fingers in little circles around her clit, releasing a soft moan as she slipped into a haze of pleasure, wrapped up in the thick steam that now filled the entire bathroom.

Craving more, she moved her fingers faster, bucking her hips against them as she went, and she could feel the familiar pressure of an orgasm building inside her as she found her rhythm. She didn't notice the figure moving towards her through the steam.

She gasped and nearly jumped out of her skin when she felt a hard chest press against her back. Her eyes popped wide open as she realized who the chest must belong to, and registered that it was bare, and his skin was hot and smooth against her back as the water kept thrumming down. She immediately tried to push herself away from the wall, but he stepped forward and held her there, preventing her from moving or even turning her head to look at him from its position against the tiles.

Then she felt his strong, bare hand running down the length of her right arm, his fingers guiding her hand back to her clit, which was still slick with her wetness. He kept his hand on top of hers, moving her fingers back into their circular rhythm around the bundle of nerves, and she felt the pressure building again in spite of herself. Her free hand was pressed against the tiles, her breaths coming out ragged.

He slid his fingers past her hand to her entrance, pausing there for a moment before sliding two of them inside her, and she released a long, low moan. His fingers were curling up towards that elusive spot under her navel as he slowly pulled them in and out of her. She bucked against his hand, her sex practically dripping with its own wetness now. Her whole body felt like it was on fire as the pressure mounted higher.

And then he slid his fingers out of her and moved his hand to cover hers, stilling her fingers as well. She let out a frustrated moan, and they stood there panting for a few beats amongst the pulse of the water and the swirling steam. He remained up against her, leaning with his free hand against the tiles over her head for a long moment, and she became aware of his hard, pulsing length pressing into her lower back. She slowly moved to turn around, and he pushed himself back a little, allowing her to do so while still leaning against his hand on the wall.

She turned completely to face him, her back against the wall, and took in his face. He dropped both hands to his sides.

The water had washed off all his makeup, as well as the green coloring in his hair, revealing it to be a dark, dirty blond color. _It wasn't permanent coloring,_ she realized. His face was young, handsome and completely smooth outside of his scars, which were red and angry looking.

She tentatively placed one hand on each of his wrists. He didn't react or protest, keeping his hazel eyes locked on hers. She slowly ran her hands up his arms, following them with her eyes as they went and savoring the feeling of his defined muscles underneath them. She ran them over his equally defined shoulders, her eyes moving ahead to his strong, smooth neck- the one she had ached to kiss so many times, and still ached to kiss now.

So she did. She rose up slowly onto her tiptoes and pressed her lips into the side of his neck, relishing in the taste of the water on his throat as she swiped her tongue over it. A low, growling moan escaped him. She lowered herself back down on her feet and continued her slow exploration.

She slid her hands down to his perfectly sculpted chest, her wetness growing as her eyes landed on the long scar from when she had cut him. She lightly ran her fingertips over the length of it, and then followed them with her tongue, again savoring the water that was still running over his skin. She looked back up into his face to see that his pupils had eclipsed the hazel in his eyes now.

Her hands moved lower to his lightly defined abs, tracing over each one, all the way down to his impressive length, which was resting against her belly and throbbing softly. She wrapped her fingers around it firmly and moved her hand up and down his shaft once, earning another growling moan. He was leaning his muscled arm against the tiles above her head again, his forehead almost touching hers as he gazed down at her, their eyes locked once more.

Finally, she moved her hands slowly all the way back up his abdomen, over his neck, and up, until one hand was on each side of his face. She half expected him to angrily brush her hands away like usual, but he just kept his gaze on hers, although she saw his jaw clench.

She ran her fingertips over his scars, then moved her hands around towards the back of his head until they were both tangled in his hair. His free hand was grasping her hip.

They stared at each other, both panting softly, for a moment, before he slowly bent his head and covered her mouth with his in a hot, languid kiss. He ran his tongue over hers, and she savored his salty taste, realizing only now how much she had been craving it since the last time she'd tasted it. She tightened her fingers into his hair and used it as leverage to pull herself back onto her tiptoes, simultaneously deepening the kiss. He moved his hand from her hipbone around to the small of her back, pulling her against him, her breasts flush against his chest.

She felt a fresh flood of wetness between her legs because the Joker had both hands on her body now, cupping her breasts with them, tweaking her nipples and swallowing the moan she released into his mouth, running them down her back to squeeze her buttocks, running one back up to cup the back of her neck as he kissed her with mounting urgency.

Between her legs was beginning to ache with how badly she craved him.

She managed to gasp out a plea in between desperate kisses- "please, Joker"- and he lowered himself to hook one large hand underneath each of her thighs before lifting her up. Her legs wrapped around his waist of their own accord and she felt the tip of his hard length against her entrance.

He captured her lips once more as he pressed her back into the wall and slid his entire length inside her. Their moans at the sensation intermingled in each other's mouths- his low, gravelly one with her breathy, keening one. His hands gripped her buttocks as he slowly withdrew all the way to the tip of his shaft, then thrust all the way back in to the hilt, eliciting another, louder, moan from each of them.

Salomé bucked hard against him, feeling the pressure beginning to build inside her for the third time. They found a rhythm, grinding hard and slow against each other, each wanting more with each thrust. The Joker dipped his head down to her neck, sucking on the skin there, pulling it between his teeth and marking her as his, as he thrust into her again and again. Salomé whimpered as she felt her wetness grow, desperately wanting to shatter around him, but needing more.

He seemed to sense her desperation, pressing her even harder into the wall and thrusting faster into her, stealing her breath with a dizzying kiss. She writhed against him, wanting him deeper, loving the feeling of his skin rubbing against her clit and taking her higher and higher with every thrust. The pressure was unbearable now, and she could feel how hard she was going to come, could feel herself growing tighter around him, and he must've felt it too because he let out a savage moan and pounded even harder into her.

She teetered at the edge, mewling in frustration, until he raised one hand to tweak her nipple and she came apart.

She threw her head back against the tile and convulsed around him on a long wail, her thighs quivering with the force of it, and still he bucked into her, prolonging her release and triggering his own. He growled loudly into her throat as he exploded inside her, filling her up and causing a few more orgasmic ripples to fire through her.

She felt utterly spent, barely clinging to him and feeling her eyelids grow heavy as he shut the (now lukewarm) water off with one hand before pulling her more tightly to him and lifting her away from the wall. He stepped carefully over the edge of the tub onto the floor and hastily grabbed both of their towels off the hook, then carried her through the unknown door and into his room.

But she barely registered that, instead focusing on how grateful she felt when he tossed both towels out onto his bed and lay her down on top of them, before settling down next to her and draping a heavy arm over her waist.

No words were spoken before sleep took them both.

* * *

Worth the wait? I hope so!

xo nightmoth


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